The Greatest Sin [Progression Fantasy][Kingdom Building]
Chapter 393 – Sailing The Light Blue Ocean

It is crucial that one does not fall to pure abstractions in their discussions. I have a tendency in my writing to make such grand proclamations that they are treated as ideals to debate rather than what I mean literally. When I write of victory being annihilation, I do not mean this in some metaphorical way, where one has to annihilate their enemies and remove all hope from them.

I mean it literally. Victory is annihilation in the context of a total eradication of their lineage, of their culture, of their history. One can achieve the most gracious victory in the history of all mankind and it will still not be enough. Defeat scars one’s honour in a permanent fashion. Even if the currently defeated accept their loss, will their children? Will their children’s children? Ten generations down the line, will their descendants remember the gratitude their ancestors received, or will they feel the scars that their descendants were hurt with? This is what I mean. Victory is annihilation. It is a complete and total eradication of the enemy. It is not confining them to the annals of history. It is cutting off their future by excising their past.

- Excerpt from ‘Philosophy of War’, written by Goddess Kassandora, of War

“You there, Doug? Testing, testing.” Captain Erik’s came through the speaker in the headset. Douglas absentmindedly pressed a button in the practical keyboard on the side of his joystick to turn in microphone on.

“Testing, testing. I’m here.” Douglas responded as his eyes made a sweep over the cockpit of the Raptor. He had seen the newer planes used by the Imperial Airforce, with the pilots he was training up in Kirinyaa. Those birds had twice the indicators and half the controls. The Raptors had been designed for felling Leona, anyone that could go wrong was kept at a minimum. The pilot was expected to practically become part of the plane himself rather than fly and steer a vehicle.

There was no speed indicator. There was no altitude indicator. There was no warning lights for stalling. There was a fuel gauge. Douglas was glad that the engineers had been gracious enough to include that last one and not have the pilots be forced to remember how long they’ve already been in the air for. The only piece of high-technology was the radio and the armament, the latter had been added post Leona and it showed. The right side of the cockpit was a screen with blinking buttons and lights that showed the amount of bullets left in the autocannon’s magazine and the four missiles strapped onto the wings. The left side was a barren steel panel of switches that were marked with permanent marker. “Did you see the cameras in the base?” Erik asked.

Douglas chuckled at that. Rarely did they ever talk about anything pertaining to the mission when they were in the air. The grunts and new pilots would maintain perfect radio silence. But Raptors? Kings of the Sky? The personal transports of Gods and Goddesses? Radio silence? Such an idea was scoffed at. By the captains and, Douglas imagined, by the planes themselves. The top of the food chain did not abide by such an idea as ‘radio silence’.

The pair of Raptors, huge planes, larger than the modern models used by the air force in Epa and in Kirinyaa, with four jets strapped to them and with each piece hand-made, shot south-west across the blue Rancais sky. Like a pair of two massive black arrows head, with beaks of yellow and furious red eyes painted underneath the pilot’s cabin. “I did.” Douglas said. “They wanted an interview with me.”

“Did you give them one?” Erik asked.

“I tried not to.” Douglas said cheekily. “Honestly, I tried not to.”

“That means what exactly?” Erik asked as Douglas flicked one of the switches to his left. It turned on the fuel injector. Another switch activated the burner and Raptor One broke the sound barrier with a huge boom. Below it, animals grazing on green grass looked up to see what caused the explosion. Another followed as Erik swiftly sped up too.

“So this fucking lass catches me Erik.” Douglas started to vent. “She’s real pretty, I’m not going to pretend she’s not. You know, the classic Doschian fairy, blond, all nice.”

“I know the type.” Erik said.

“She sticks a microphone in my face and I’m just looking at it.” Douglas put all the emotion he could into voice. It was good to vent for one, and flying at maximum speed was when the plane required the least engagement from the pilot. It would simply transform into a high speed arrow that needed to be directed straight and left to keep flying. “And then she asks me questions. I’m just there, what the fuck am I even supposed to say Erik? Actually?”

Erik laughed over the microphone as Douglas squinted his eyes. There were clouds below them and the reflected the sun like a blinding mirror. White clouds below, screaming engines behind, and then the deep blue ocean of the endless sky above. “You say ‘I am Captain Douglas, now here’s my number. I’ll pick you up at nine today after I kill a God, wear a dress sweetheart.’” Erik finished and howled with laughter.

“Yeah, on national TV.” Douglas tried to keep the sourness in his tone but Douglas did just make him laugh. That was undeniable. “I just told her my name was classified.”

“Smooth.” Erik replied. “That’s better than what I would say.”

“What would you have said?”

“I don’t know, I would have turned her down too but just saying ‘classified’ is smooth. Good one.” Douglas rolled his eyes. Here Erik thought that Douglas still wanted to flirt with this journalist.

“I tried to answer her question on the plane.”

“So you don’t give your name out but you talk about the bird?”

“What? Am I not supposed to?”

“That is all actually classified information.” Douglas laughed into the microphone upon hearing that from Erik.

“Do you even know what engine the bird has?” Douglas asked loudly. “Or fuck, do you even know what wheels we have?”

Erik burst out in laughter from the other side again. “I know the ammunition is 30mm.”

“And the missiles?”

Erik took a moment to reply. “Air to air ones.”

Douglas chuckled into the microphone. “Don’t worry, I don’t know either.”

“I know I press the button here and they shoot off, enough for me.”

“Well that’s what I said about the bird to her.” Douglas said. “It’s not classified that the birds have black paint, is it?”

“I don’t think it’s black.” Erik replied. “It’s some colour with a number in.” Douglas blinked and recoiled so much at what Erik had just said that he actually inspected the radar. Still far away from target.

“What?”

“I’m not joking, read the specs when we get back to the nest.” Erik replied. “I’ll bet you a drink on it.”

“I believe you.” Douglas replied. A set of lights started to blink above and to the left. That meant the afterburner needed to cool down. It wouldn’t turn off automatically of course. “My engine’s hot.”

“Mine just screamed at me.” Erik replied. “Slowing down.” Douglas turned the fuel jets off and felt the plane lose speed. It was still fast, just not so fast as to be faster than sound. The scream of the engines from outside caught up as it always did and rolled over the Raptor aircraft like a giant wave. “So? What did you spill?”

“I was just honest, told the girl I fly a bird that screams and moans at me every time I try and do anything with it.” Erik burst out in laughter.

“On national TV?”

“What? Was I not supposed to?” Douglas asked.

“How does that sound?”

“Well it’s not spilling classified information, is it?” Erik laughed even harder. Douglas didn’t know if the plane was laughing at him too, but the radio got some feedback which disappeared after a moment. Most likely they were going over a radio tower. Whatever was installed in these birds picked up signal from everything and anything.

“Well I’m glad you didn’t tell her how you took it to bed instead.” Erik said through bouts of laughter and Douglas felt his cheeks go red. He turned the temperature in the cockpit down to cool himself off after realising how what he said sounded.

“Do you think Iliyal will be mad at me?” Douglas fell back into his seat and readjusted the seat-belt. It had a tendency to hug him too tight. “Fuck hell Erik.”

“Elf won’t care.” Erik said confidently. “No way and just avoid him.”

“You think so?”

“He’s too busy for it.” Erik said. “No way.”

“How do you know?”

“I have a friend who has a friend who has a friend who is Paida’s assistant. She complains about him all the time.” Erik explained and Douglas chose to ignore what her just heard. How Erik managed to find a contact to the Goddess of Rancais was a story for another day. “But…” Erik trailed off with a purr.

“But what?”

“But I wouldn’t so happy if I were you. The elf won’t care but I know who will.”

“Who?”

“Helenna.” Douglas shook his head and stroked the control stick to calm himself down. Sometimes, Erik just said something was a testament to idiocy. Sometimes, he was the smartest man on Arda. Right now, it was the latter. If Doschia Today had come for a visit to the airfields, then there was basically one person who could be responsible for that. And it certainly wasn’t Iliyal Tremali. It was the Goddess who everyone knew had stolen over a section of the front line and required shipments of wine every two days.

“Do you think I ruined something for her?” Douglas asked. Hopefully not. Please not. Say it ain’t so. “I mean, I’m not wrong! The bird is lovely but she’s terrible!”

“Honestly Doug, that’s not for me to say. She’ll probably tell you off and send you on one of those public relations courses the officers have been going on.” Erik laughed. “But I can imagine her just calling you a child who doesn’t know how to keep his cool in front of women.” Douglas sighed.

And so the two pilots talked as they sailed the light blue ocean above Rancais. Over green fields and rivers and clouds. Over grey cities. Over burned out ruined mansions. Past now-defunct aristocratic manors and over People’s Councils. The sun reached its zenith and began to slide towards the horizon. And the Raptors, the apex predators of the sky, finally caught up to their prey. “I have sights.” Erik said.

“I have them too.” Douglas replied. “Pass over, get behind, then open fire?”

“Copy, confirmed.” Erik said. All the humour and chattiness left his tone. He now sounded deadly serious with his voice deep. The pair of Raptors flew over the plane Iliyal had tasked them to shoot down. It was a private civilian jet. The wings had been painted with stripes of red and black, but other than that, Douglas could see some Rancais nobility fly it. That was if the plane wasn’t massive. It was easily twice the size of a raptor, with two engines on either wing. Fast certainly, but the beast didn’t look manoeuvrable.

Douglas’s Raptor flew above it like a wolf pouncing over a fat sheep. The Raptor circled the plane as Erik escaped to the right. The Raptors met back up, both chasing the target from behind, but both coming in from the opposite angle. “That is it, right?” Erik asked. “You saw the stripe?”

“I saw the stripe.” Douglas said. Frankly, even if the plane didn’t have the target they were after, then it was carrying the colours of Anarchia. That made it an enemy of the Empire. Douglas was no great patriot, but he wasn’t going to let some righteous morality stop him from carrying out his job. “Red and black. The same as in the briefing.”

“Do you think it has her?” Finally, Erik asked the question. Douglas had wondered if either of them would voice it. Usually, they simply completed the task of the mission without any talking or discussion of what they were doing. Jobs were to be done, jobs weren’t to be talked over or about.

“It might.” Douglas said. “Probably does. The elf doesn’t have wrong information.”

“No.” Erik replied dryly. “He doesn’t. Locked on and firing.”

“Go ahead.” Douglas said. They had learned in the Epan War how missiles could lock onto each other, and planes only needed to be blown up once to crash them anyway. A missile launched forwards from Erik’s plane. As had happened dozens of times before. It dropped and fell for a full second, then shot off, like a talon escaping from the Raptor, ready to strike and tear at that fat transport plane.

Suddenly, the dozen exploded from the side of the plane. A man stepped out. He had a red cape that whipped about in the wind. The missile approached him, a fire in the sky that burned bright. The man shot off, flying through the air, powered by seemingly nothing. He positioned himself between the Raptors and the plane. He extended his arms forward.

He caught the missile Erik had launched. Douglas felt his eyes widen as he did. And then, he threw the missile down, it tumbled towards the ground like a rock, unable to re-calibrate itself until it exploded against the ground.

Erik’s voice came over the speaker. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. “What the fuck.”