Flying the Storm

5.





Zovashen

“That’s Yerevan,” said Fredrick, nodding ahead.

Aiden immediately saw why Fredrick had called him away from his turret. Yerevan, the capital city of the Armenian Republic, was in ruin.

The Iolaire was crossing the black and flattened northern suburbs: the city sprawled almost to the southern horizon. It was a bleak wasteland, strewn with rubble and thousands of craters. To their right, remnants of skyscrapers and apartment blocks jutted like ragged teeth from the landscape. In the distant south stood Mount Ararat, like some vast and silent watchman. Below the Iolaire, nothing moved.

Aiden was silent. The engines droned and the intercom hissed.

“It was the union  ,” said Tovmas, “a year before the war ended. The Concord held the city and the mountains, but the West would not be drawn into battle on the ground. They destroyed the city from the air.”

“It looks nuclear,” said Aiden.

“Some of it probably was, yes. Low-yield shells. The union   was eager to try out its new toy, the Gilgamesh. This was the first operational demonstration of its firepower,” said Tovmas, bitterly.

Fredrick glanced sideways at Aiden. Aiden’s stomach churned. “Did you see it? When it happened, I mean,” he asked. He couldn’t help himself.

“I was with the union   infantry when this happened, but they didn’t post Armenians in Armenia. I fought with the Four-Eighty-Seventh, in Africa and Indochina. I am glad I did not see this.” Tovmas stared hard out of the window. “I was born in Yerevan,” he said quietly.

Aiden didn’t know what to say, so he kept quiet. Fredrick was the same. Looking out across the city, he could see no signs of rebuilding. No signs of life.

“It was abandoned after that,” said Tovmas, as if reading Aiden’s thoughts. “Gangs moved in, fighting over the ruins, so the remaining people simply left. There was nothing here for them, except poisoned earth and rubble.” He paused, gazing straight ahead once more. “Armenia has no capital now. There is nothing to unify us.”

The ground beneath the aircraft was steepening as the Ararat plain swept up to the Geghama ridge, thirty or so kilometres ahead of the Iolaire. The Yerevan gorge suddenly opened up beneath the aircraft, a great gouge three hundred metres deep. It had disappeared behind them in seconds.

Before long, the Hatis Mountain loomed ahead to their left: a great green mound of a hill that marked their destination. Tovmas was navigating. He was guiding them to the small town of Zovashen, where his informant on the raiders had pointed him. Supposedly someone in the town knew where the raiders were based.

“Zovashen is not far,” said Tovmas, pointing at the mountain.

“Alright,” said Aiden, “Your men know the drill?”

“Yes,” Tovmas replied, “You land us in the town; we go and get the informant.”

“We’ll put down south of the town and wait for you to come to us. Any trouble, we’ll cover you,” said Aiden. “Any shots we have to fire you will pay for, as agreed.”

Tovmas nodded.

“Easy-peasy,” muttered Fredrick.

Fredrick brought the Iolaire in a wide sweep around the base of the mountain, before flaring to slow to a hover, just short of the small village. Herds of sheep scattered from below them. Aiden had returned to his tail gun and was dutifully sweeping the sky behind the Iolaire. The eastern face of the Hatis Mountain loomed steeply to his right and the grassy slopes at its base shimmered in the rotor-wash. Fredrick let the aircraft down, sinking gently until its landing gear thumped into the field. The cargo ramp fell, and the twenty armed men ran out.

After a few seconds, Fredrick closed the cargo ramp and brought the Iolaire to a hover a couple of metres from the ground. He yawed the aircraft around and set it down on the field again. Aiden and his gun faced the village now, watching from his armoured glass bubble as Tovmas and his men jogged into the ramshackle little farming town.

Tovmas stopped at one of the shacks on the eastern edge of the settlement. His militiamen spread out around him, and one went ahead into the shack when he kicked open the door.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Through the thick glass, Aiden heard the three gunshots as blunt thumps. He jumped upright in his seat, and saw the guarding militia spin to face the shack with their weapons raised.

“Aiden, what was that?” Fredrick asked over the intercom.

Aiden didn’t reply.

Tovmas appeared at the shack door, casting a skinny man out before him. The man clutched at his ribs, and even from the Iolaire Aiden could see his greasy white vest blotted with red. The skinny figure knelt on the ground, shaking and spitting blood. Tovmas kicked the man hard, knocking him flat in the dust. Two militiamen ran into the shack.

The man’s hand was raised, pleading. Tovmas advanced on him, his weapon shouldered. He was shouting at the man, who cowered painfully on the ground. The two militiamen appeared again, carrying the limp form of the one who had gone in ahead of Tovmas.


“Aiden?” demanded Fredrick.

“They’ve got the informant. Get the engines spun up, Fred.”

“What was the noise?”

“One man’s hurt, I think there was some trouble.”

Tovmas appeared to lower his weapon. He looked at the militiamen near him and said something.

Then he shot the skinny man in the head. The man went limp, slumping into the dust. Aiden’s stomach lurched into his throat.

“And what was that?” demanded Fredrick once more.

“He…he just shot the informant. They’re coming back now,” Aiden swallowed, though his throat was dry.

“Funny, it sounded like you said he shot the informant,” said Fredrick.

“I did say that. The man’s dead,” replied Aiden. He was watching Tovmas as he walked back to the Iolaire. Tovmas looked perfectly calm. Behind him, the skinny figure lay motionless in the dust. Aiden couldn’t take his eyes from it.

“Shit,” said Fredrick.

“Shit’s right,” said Aiden.

The ramp was lowered again so Tovmas and his men could come aboard. Aiden climbed down to the cargo hold.

“What the hell happened?” he shouted.

Tovmas rounded on Aiden. “The rat killed one of my men, is what happened.”

“But why did you shoot-”

“He was working for the raiders! Pointing them to places that had women they could sell!” Tovmas paused, glaring at Aiden. “His own village, they told me what he was. They could not touch him: he was protected. Safe and rich! For leading those animals to my daughter!” Tovmas was shaking with fury. All trace of his cool reserve was gone, and Aiden couldn’t help but recoil slightly. A man with rage like this was capable of anything.

The militiamen were also staring at Aiden, their faces grim. He looked around at them. His eyes fell to the still figure of the dead man. A comrade was dabbing the blood from around his mouth, while another was unfolding the man’s blanket, ready to cover the corpse. Both men had paused to stare at Aiden.

He scratched the back of his neck self-consciously. “Ach, bloody hell,” he said. “Right, come to the cockpit and point us where to go.”

Tovmas nodded, his anger subsiding, and followed Aiden to the cockpit. The militiamen stopped staring and began to settle down for the flight.

“Did you find out where we’re going?” asked an agitated Fredrick.

“Yes,” replied Tovmas.

“Well, where?”

“The fortress at Kakavaberd.”

Fredrick nodded. “Oh, that old place.”

Tovmas seemed oblivious to the sarcasm. “Yes. To the south. Maybe thirty kilometres.”

“Right, so now we know where they are...what do we do?” asked Aiden.

“We will attack them.”

“Attack? Why not! Death or glory, I always bloody say,” Aiden spat angrily.

“No, we must surprise them,” said Tovmas. “We cannot simply fly right into their camp. We’d be shot to pieces.”

“I won’t risk my aircraft,” said Fredrick.

His aircraft?

Tovmas went on, “So we land somewhere out of sight of the camp and approach it on foot. That way we surprise them.”

“Ok,” said Fredrick, “but it’s broad daylight. You’ll be spotted, surely.”

“This is why we must use the night to cover our approach. We attack only when we are close.”

“Fine, you guys do whatever you want. Not our problem.”

“But we will need your help, of course. You don’t think that we would pass up the advantage of air support, do you?” Tovmas said. Aiden snorted at his boldness.

“And what makes you think we will agree?” asked Fredrick.

“Like I have said, I have gold. An extra hundred grams.”

Gold never went amiss. “You’d better be a man of your word, Tovmas.”

“So do I have your agreement?”

The pair of westerners looked at each other. “For now, yeah.”

Two men dead today. How many more tomorrow?