Author Notes:
Apologies for the delayed RM Chapter, I really had to deal with some IRL housework, a lot to be exact, before I decided to invest heavily into writing RM Chapter 91-13 in the most nostalgic way possible.
Those of you who are the GOAT and read it will no doubt recognize the heavy influence of a certain TV show.
Bloody Hell, I feel strangely great when I wrote Chapter 91-13.
Now, obligatory reminder that there's only 11 days left for the Special 35% discount for newcomers on Patreon. Grab it while it's hot~!
And then there are the new picture set, new experiments, of course. Do tell me how good they are~!
Thanks, everyone, and enjoy the coming Lunar New Year!
Yuki Vintage set:
https://postimg.cc/HcR2SGMF
https://postimg.cc/34VBLMGs
https://postimg.cc/Q9wb6L7R
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"Thank you...!" A distraught girl, limping due to her injured knee, sniffs back tears to the young aircraft mechanic who is lending her a shoulder in support. "Thank you so much...!"
From what Nybeck manages to catch bits and pieces of, the girl, barely a teen, lost what's left of her family to a stray artillery shell on the second day of the civil war. A family of well-known physicians, just like that, nearly got wiped out of the face of the planet. The girl, as the last living member of her lineage, would have lost everything below her injured knee if not for her limited medical knowledge being put to the test.
As an unwitting casualty of the struggle for London's helm, the girl ultimately aligned with no party in the civil war; instead, she began her long, arduous trek to places untouched by the flames of conflict. Joining the columns of desperate refugees, the girl was the only one with some medical expertise who could treat others, similarly injured civilians. To cope with her losses, the girl threw herself into administering aid wherever she could, even at the expense of her fraying mental state. In the journey and trials the refugees took to reach the stable RAF Northolt, which was flying the neutral flag, the girl saw more than enough bloodshed and despairing circumstances to ruin her for life, if the loss of her family hadn't already done so.
As the girl and the other escaped refugees are now being cared for in emergency shelters, converted from unused aircraft hangars and vehicle garages, Nybeck and the other Erusean soldiers can only force down their helplessness and directionless rage. Their position as a technically neutral party has granted them a unique perspective on the struggle for London's ownership. It has caused them all to question the justification behind this war and all the things that have led up to this point in time.
Was it all worth it? All the wasted time, manpower, resources, and lives... All of those in return for what? More misery for their people? Brothers killing each other not in the name of God and country but in the name of some fat nobles and merchantmen?
His experience when flying over the Erusean Channel, compounded with recent events, has caused Nybeck to ponder grimly about the last time he took to the sky.
We were this close to raining down fire and brimstone on targets with civilian presence... Perhaps this is just our comeuppance, due justice being delivered by ourselves.
In his introspection, Nybeck doesn't notice the Colonel approaching him from behind. Nybeck's mulling is abruptly cut short by a strong pat on the back from the Colonel. Startled, Nybeck turns and, on habit, salutes the currently highest-ranking officer in Northolt.
"At ease." The Colonel says amicably to Nybeck. "You look like you will need it, anyway."
"Sir?" Nybeck lowers his hand in confusion.
The Colonel gives Nybeck a look over. "I have seen those with your expression many times, Nybeck. Good soldiers and even better men, all of them. However, most of them ended up wallowing in their misery with a bottle for a wife. The injustice that is war shattered their backbone, their worldview. And you, Nybeck, seem to be heading that same narrow trail."
Giving Nybeck a couple of pats on his shoulder, the Colonel adds. "My advice: think about how to prevent a repeat of what's haunting us all instead of just lamenting about the present. It will give you motivation to take at least one more step."
"... Why did you join the service, sir?" Nybeck asks after thinking over the Colonel's suggestion.
The Colonel snickers at the question. "Never really have a different career path. Either served the King's Royal Military or became a foot rest for that one potty noble brat back home."
"... Oh." Nybeck doesn't know what to say about that.
"Yes, son. Oh." The Colonel laughs dryly. "There's a reason why I am still a stay-at-home Colonel despite experiencing my second war. It's a good thing that the potty bastard is either dead or a POW on the other side of the Channel. I will take that win any day."
The Colonel then shakes his head.
"For better or for worse, I have come to appreciate the soldiering life, or at least some of the honor codes it entails. A part of that code involves protecting our people in any way we can..." The Colonel then turns to the refugees, who are being given military rations to regain some of their strength. Nybeck notes that the girl from before is not to be seen anywhere. "With our quite unfortunate positioning, however, this is probably the best we can do."
As if to emphasize their position and the Colonel's words, Heaven above rumbles as a gray-colored blur flies past RAF Northolt. Nybeck and the Colonel look upward, only to see a fading speck circling the horizon. While the Colonel's order has made it clear that all anti-air guns remain in a non-active state, members of the AA crews, out of ingrained instinct, use their binoculars to track the speeding object in the air. Those who manage to catch a glimpse of the gray airframe can only equate it to a dagger in the air. It is smaller than any aircraft they have ever seen, and so fast that they will have to break their neck trying to catch it on a turn.
That has been a Barracuda UAV of the Belkan Reich. Very intentionally, it has flown at a low enough altitude to trigger a reaction from the known anti-air installations around RAF Northolt. Yet, strangely enough, the static gun emplacements remain unmanned, with no Erusean soldier making a mad dash to any of them. By the look of it, these Erusean troops are more content with manning the perimeter checkpoints and whatever else they're occupying themselves with. It's a strange response that doesn't escape the notice of ONI analysts. To make doubly sure that this passive response is not a mistake, the drone operator for this particular Barracuda is ordered to buzz Northolt's runway.
The drone operator does so with a grin, for it's not every day that one can take a Barracuda that low and fast on hostile soil.
Nybeck, now finding themselves standing on the air traffic control tower alongside the Colonel, suddenly feels his goose bumps rising as the black speck grows larger and larger and aligns itself with the magnetic azimuth of the runway's heading.
"It's going too fast..." Nybeck instinctively mutters.
"Excuse me?" The Colonel turns to Nybeck with a look of confusion just before he places a pair of binoculars over his eyes in sudden understanding. "Good lord, is it trying to land at that velocity!?"
Having seen for himself how fast that strange craft disappears from his scope the moment he lays his eyes on it, the Colonel is understandably shocked.
Nybeck has a sinking feeling in his stomach. He thinks he knows what's about to come next.
"Colonel..." Nybeck steps backward while pulling the Colonel back from the tower's railings. "Hang onto your hat!"
Nybeck barely finishes his sentence when the Belkan aircraft shoots past the ATC tower and down the entire length of the runway in but a couple of seconds. The extreme velocity at which the small aircraft flies generates a storm-like gust that rattles the entire tower as the dust and debris it kicks up crack the nearby window, and even shatter one of them. If not for Nybeck's quick thinking, the Colonel may have very well run the risk of falling out of the tower due to the surprise flyby because the railings for this tower are pathetically ceremonial and short.
"Thanks, son." Readjusting his cap that nearly got flung away by the winds, the Colonel turns to look at the exit vector the strange aircraft took. "What in the blood Hell was that?"
"I don't know, sir." Nybeck shakes his head. "My limited experience with the Belkan Air Force does tell me this, though: Belkan witchcraft. It may be best if we make sure none of us gets trigger-happy after that. The Belkans may have been testing our response."
"That's one heck of a poke to get a rise out of us, if you ask me." The Colonel huffs but ultimately waves for a runner to get his stand-down message disseminated to everyone in Northolt.
"Still, if they're capable of doing this already... Then does that mean that Buckingham has already fallen?" Nybeck ponders seriously, looking in the direction of the Royal Palace on the horizon.
"Or it can be that they have flanked the strongpoint around the palace." The Colonel adds. "They may be trying to encircle London, cutting off reinforcement and all that. Northolt will be a real juicy target, if you ask me. I only hope that those Belkans have seen the white colors we have been flying on the flag pole and any roof with a stick on top."
"Perhaps your hope is about to be answered, sir. There, on the horizon..." Nybeck points at the new flying shapes that are on approach to Northolt.
"Well, I'll be damned..." The Colonel comments as he uses his binoculars to view the new aircraft. "And yup, nothing that my mud-for-brain can identify. Those guys getting all cozy in prisons across the Channel may know more about those aircraft than I do. Here, you should take a look."
Taking the binoculars offered by the Colonel, Nybeck holds them up. "They are different than the one before... And I can't see them fit the profiles of the one that escorted me more than halfway through the Channel."
"Then it's as you've said, more Belkan witchcraft." The Colonel shrugs before patting away the dust on his uniform. "Come on, whatever comes next, we will have to make ready."
"Right behind you, sir." Nybeck puts down the binoculars and follows after the Colonel's back.
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The Belkan aircraft, Ospreys, all of them, circle above RAF Northolt cautiously multiple times. The guns, autocannons, rockets, and missiles these Ospreys carry are all pointed downward with safety disengages. Yet, the prudent posturing the Belkan takes is once again met with a passive wait-and-see attitude from the Erusean soldiers on the ground. While it can be argued that these Eruseans don't want a conflict due to the presence of refugees in the base's perimeter, for them to form a welcoming committee with even more white flags stuck on the barrels of their rifles is not something you'll see every day.
Having read their intent, some of the Ospreys are given the order to land. And in a move that shocked the Erusean military present, the Ospreys land vertically before disgorging security soldiers and a very particular VIP.
"Now that's one way to make an entrance." Taking a leap of faith, the Colonel steps forward to salute what seems to be the commanding officer of this big and well-armed retinue.
And while it's weird, perhaps it's to be expected that the figure in front of the Colonel is a female. She seems to be dressed in full combat gear as well, as evidenced by her forest green camouflaged body armor with all the bells and whistles that the Colonel can't even name. The only reason the Colonel knows she is a female is her helmetless state, showcasing her beautifully sculpted face, white hair, and blue eyes.
"It's a necessary precaution, one that I hope you will understand. We were only unsure of your intention, Colonel Brown." The female replies in perfect Erusean after returning the salute.
"You know of me, lady?" Colonel Brown asks in mild surprise.
"We tend to research our objectives carefully before initiating any action." The lady answers simply. "I am Lieutenant General Brynhildr of the Belkan Army, here to participate in the parlay initiated by Colonel Brown of the Erusean Royal Army. Speak your terms, Colonel."
The Colonel smiles wryly before shaking his head. "I am honored to have a General visit my encampment, but it's less of a parlay, more of us expressing our intention to surrender, General Brynhildr. We will surrender, provided the Reich will give us the proper courtesy as noted by international treaties. This is the decision made with the agreement of all service members on the site... Well, mostly, we do have one rotten apple that we threw behind bars."
The Colonel then pans his gaze to see the full force of the Belkan General's retinue. "Not much we can bring to put a dent in what you have here anyway, not when we still have things to protect behind us."
"That is very forthcoming of you, Colonel Brown." Bryn notes the man's easy acceptance of reality. "I expected a bit more back and forth, but a swift agreement does fit my preference more. Understood. I, on behalf of the Belkan Reich and the Reich Marshal, accept the surrender of RAF Northolt. Summarily, we will take command of this installation, and supplies will be airlifted here to be distributed to the refugee population at the base. Effective immediately, all armament will be confiscated, and a head count will be conducted on your troops. To ensure a smooth transition, I will require the full cooperation of the base's garrison. You have my word that everything will be conducted in a civilized manner. Is this arrangement fine with you, Colonel?"
Instead of replying directly, the Colonel turns back to take in the expressions of Nybeck and the other members of his welcome committee. Colonel Brown does not see any grievance on their faces, only grim acceptance and resolve. Satisfied with what he has seen, the Colonel turns back to Bryn.
"You will have to work us through the specifics, General. But do allow me to say this..." The Colonel offers a handshake, one that Bryn shakes on. Both sides express enough certainty in their grips as if to remind the other party to honor their part of the deal.
Feeling through his hand that Bryn is a stalwart figure with a sure grip, the Colonel allows himself a breather. "Well, welcome to Northolt, lady."
Bryn allows herself a small smile. "I hope that you won't mind that we will intrude on this home of yours even more, later on."
"Your meaning?"
"Some minor construction works and landing operations, that's all."