The top of the massive rock formation shifted, dust and debris falling off it. Then it tilted. Toward us. My mind raced. This wasn’t part of plan A, B, C, or D. No time to climb, no space to turn. There was only one thing to do.
“King Ap, we appear to be in some danger.” shouted Girmaks from the engine.
“Hold on!” I shouted as I dumped the collective and jammed the cyclic stick forward.
“I have no arms with which to hold!”
A feeling of weightlessness overcame the craft, and I could feel myself floating up against the simple restraints as we fell. We tilted forward, just as the spindle began to topple at the narrowest point. With our altitude dropping, fast, I yanked up on the collective. It didn’t do much for our descent rate, but it pulled us forward, underneath the toppling rock formation. Rubble fell around us, and a shadow not unlike the eclipse enveloped us as the bulk of the formation passed overhead.
“Wooooooo!” shouted Armstrong from the gunner’s seat. He had both his arms raised high in the air as if he was on the world’s best roller coaster. The other goblins just hung on for dear life and squealed.
Shadow turned into sunlight as we shot out from under the collapsing spire, and I craned my neck around to see most of the formation had followed my maneuver—albeit, two a touch too late. A falling boulder smashed through the main rotor of one chopper, pulverizing the aircraft in an instant. The fuel caught, and the whole ensemble exploded.
The occupants of the other aircraft saw what had happened. To a goblin, they all bailed out, some unfurling personal gliders, others just tumbling through the air, screaming at the top of their lungs. I saw one of them holding onto a small brass jar that glinted in the sun, which hopefully meant the Ifrit had bailed out as well. The now unmanned chopper spun out of control, spiraling in place until the bulk of the spire hit the thing, and it disappeared from view. The pillar crashed down with the noise of an entire thunderstorm compressed into a few seconds, and I watched, awestruck, as the whole thing collapsed into a billion pieces.
I brought the chopper around, lowering us down. A layer of dust had risen, but I still spotted the wreckage from the first chopper. Hauling back on the cyclic, I slowed us up and dipped us down, low enough to make sure that there was no ifrit still in the wreckage.
Another chopper followed and picked up the goblins who had bailed out. Several crews had dismounted to run and kick the rocks broken off the main pillar and cheer at our victory. I even spotted a canoneer scribbling furiously to document the event. Even though, effectively, we’d shot a rock.
Still. Who am I to rain on their parade? Truth be told, I was feeling pretty euphoric myself. The tribe was beginning to master powered flight. How long before we had turbine engines? Scramjets? reusable rocket boosters? Space shuttles?
I whistled for their attention and formed a circle over my head with my thumbs and forefingers. A cheer swept through the assembled air crews, and I raised my voice to be heard over the clamor.
“Target practice is over! Time for the real thing!”
The goblins scrambled to get back to their vehicles, and the whine of engines rose again. The aircraft, now lighter having burned up fuel and shot ammunition, were now light enough to take off in a hover. The birds rose unsteadily into the air and waited for me to climb back into the cockpit of my own.
“We going after the whistler now, boss?” asked Armstrong.
“Not exactly,” I said. I hauled up on the collective and took my place at the front of the formation. The remaining aircraft fell in behind me, some smoking from the stress they’d put on their engines or malfunctioning recoilless rifles. “We’ve still got some unwanted company. Time to show them the door.”
I tilted the stick back and began to climb out of the valley, cresting the ridge of the spire field and angling back toward the camps. The goblins with Sourtooth and the rest of our convoy were watching and cheering, having seen the spire collapse. But they weren’t the only ones observing the spectacle.
Four orc tribes had set out from the Blood Gorger kill camp in order to keep an eye on us, and most of them had already started to set up camp while some watched our antics. A few of them waved and whistled when we emerged from the valley. This was all fun and games and glory, for them.
Well, for me, it was survival. If we were to have any chance at actually killing the whistler, I couldn't have four separate tribes harrying our flanks. They’d already cost us the dartwing. I angled the column of aircraft toward the orc camps as though I intended to make a circle. The orcs on the ground ran along with our circuit, pointing and laughing amongst themselves. I made a full circle, making a note of the layout of the camps.
“Armstrong, you loaded up?”
“Loaded ‘n ready, boss!”
I dipped the cyclic forward and hauled up on the collective, dropping our altitude but increasing our speed as I spun the nose towards the orc camp. The engine whined at the extra strain, but Girmaks kept it running smooth-ish as I drew more power.
The orcs faltered, unsure of what was happening. They saw the choppers coming, of course. But in their heads, we were still just goblins. You could see the cognitive dissonance on their faces as their eyes saw harmless pests, but something in the back of their brains screamed this isn’t right.
“Hit their mounts,” I said.
The recoilless rifle belched out black smoke, and down in the camp, the hitching post securing the oryx and pack hogs for the Blood Gorgers exploded into splinters, freeing and startling all of the Blood Gorger mounts and beasts of burden. They shrieked and scattered, bolting in every direction—including through the camp, shaking off harness, tack, and supplies as they trampled tents. The other choppers opened up as well, hitting their foodstuffs, tents, water barrels, and other prime targets.
We had more than just the explosive launchers. The individual goblins aboard the craft hauled back and hurled poppers by the bushel at the orcs below, as well as taking potshots with rifles and pistols as we passed. Small explosions began to pepper the ground between the orc hunters, who ducked or ran for cover, having been caught completely flat-footed. A few flinched as they were hit by stray shots or shrapnel, but it was impossible to tell at speed how badly we were actually hurting them. The orcs were tough as old leather, and I expected the ordnance would sting their pride more than cause them real harm.
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In just a few seconds, we were clear or their camp, and I angled toward the next one as the goblin loader slammed new rounds home in Armstrong’s guns. These ones sported green and black armbands and had seen what had happened to the Blood Gorgers. Several hunters were already at their hitching post trying to untangle mounts now scared and skittish from the sounds of chaos in the first camp. Others had gone for weapons of their own, and crossbow bolts began whistling past us, and took at least one of my goblins right off the aircraft. I kept us low and fast to minimize our exposure. Several of them thumped against the underside, and a couple clanged off the back of the engine as we passed the perimeter of the camp.
Armstrong angled his recoilless rifles down and smashed the second camp’s hitching post, sending orcs diving to the ground. More explosions popped off in the orc camp from the column, but the orcs were fighting back. A spear sailed past us, and several thick arrows punched up through the hide and thin wood planking. One arrowhead jutted up out of the floor, right between my left and right knee, causing me to almost jump out of my seat. But a few seconds later, and we were done with the second camp.
The third had managed to get a few of their mounts free and were riding them away from the unexpected attack. The goblin choppers weren’t exactly fast, but they were faster than a buggy and could keep pace with an oryx. I got us lined up with their retreat path, swooping down. Crossbow bolts thudded into the pole on my left side, and one bounced off my chestplate. It felt like getting hit by a hammer, and it knocked the wind out of me. But Armstrong responded with the launchers and it blew the oryx right out from under the orcs. We sailed past the scattered pursuers, banking to the right. I leveled us out to gain altitude, but the engine draw seemed sluggish.
“Come on, come on!” I called, glancing back. My heart dropped when I saw a feathered shaft sticking out of my fuel bladder, and a decent amount of the liquid dribbling out around it while the engine belched out dark, black smoke. The goblins on board noticed it too, and one squawked, panicking, and started climbing towards it.
“Stop!” I shouted, but it was too late. The goblin plucked the crossbow shaft out, and held it triumphantly above his head just as a deluge of kerosene blasted him full in the face from the now unplugged hole in the bladder. I built what altitude I could, but it wasn’t long before the engine sputtered and died completely.
An odd quiet enveloped the aircraft in the wake of losing the engine. All I could hear was the swoosh of the coaxial rotors as air started to rush up through them. System’s helpful altitude reading began to drop again.
Most people think a helicopter without power glides about as well as a paperweight, but they’re actually just almost as bad as a paperweight. I’d never performed an autorotation, but I have heard of them and understood the principle. I dropped the collective all the way to the deck and watched as the main rotors began to spin faster and faster, whistling as the air passing through sped them up. We dropped even faster, but we were going to need rotor RPMs to get through this, and that was the only way to get them. The spinning blades still gave us some lift, and pulled us closer to the improvised landing zone.
In the meantime, I angled us back toward the goblin camp, where the goblins had already seen me start to drop and were now shouting and panicking.
As we dropped closer to the ground, I hauled back on the stick and lifted the collective just a little. The whistle in the rotors became a strained creak and the whole aircraft shuddered. I heard the snap and pop of fasteners bursting. But our downward velocity halted and we shot ahead, trading those rotor rpms for a little altitude control. We actually climbed maybe a dozen meters, which I hadn’t intended, and I lowered the stick again. The ground shot up to meet us, and I hauled up as hard as I could on the collective to soften our impact.
The chopper hit the ground like a sack of dirt, bouncing and rolling on its gear as the main rotor blades overhead spun out the last of their energy. We rolled to a stop.
Shrugging out of the restraints, I jumped out of the smoking chopper to assess the damage. It looked… well, it had looked battered and barely functional to begin with. Now it looked very much the same state, just with dents, crossbow bolts, and a few less goblins aboard.
“Promo!” I shouted, looking for my chief engineer. The noblin waddled up, hammer at the ready. Sourtooth wasn’t far behind.
“Emergency repairs. Let’s get these patched up and get on the move.”
“We can fix some of ‘em on the move,” he said.
“Even better. Sourtooth, your plan worked. But I didn’t see Lura’s Dawn hunters.”
The gnarled old orc spat on the ground. “Aye, too clever by half, she, for one so few of years. Broke camp as soon as flight yon choppers took, lest she be caught flat of foot like the others. Still, a good showing. Sent afield the Gorgers and the others.”
I helped a handful of goblins shift the chopper onto the back of one of the buggies we’d converted to flatbeds in order to transport the aircraft. The rest of the choppers who hadn’t had punctured fuel tanks were already landing. “Will it be enough time to take down the whistler?”
“Supposing we can take the whistler…” Sourtooth rubbed his scarred chin. “Perhaps.”
Perhaps was better than no chance. But if Lura decided to interfere, those odds would not be in our favor. We needed insurance.
I left the chopper and went looking for Keeper. The hooded figure was working her beads, getting and giving updates—no doubt informing the rest of the Stampede about our little maneuver and our new toys.
“Keeper, can I send a message through those?” I asked, pointing.
“A message, I believe you have just sent, little brother.”
I huffed a laugh. That was true, after a fashion. But it wasn’t what I had in mind. “How are the Dawn Hunters and the Blood Gorgers doing?”
“Both close in on quarry. Both are confident they can stave off challengers, but neither are sure which of them will be first to bring low their beast.”
“I’m confident,” I said. “Because I sending three choppers to the Blood Gorgers.”
Keeper raised an eyebrow. “You think to succeed in thwarting them where others dare not?” he asked.
“Bad enemies to make, the Blood Gorgers,” warned Sourtooth.
“On the contrary,” I said. “I’m going to help them take down their monster. And I want Lura to know that if she does anything to prevent us taking down the whistler, she can kiss her glory goodbye.”
Keeper spun her beads. “Unorthodox, is this. It strides grey trail in the spirit of the Stampede… yet breaks no covenant. Very well. Relayed to both chiefs, your words have been. The Gorgers welcome your aid.”
“Thanks Keeper,” I said.
Most of the choppers had been loaded up. I climbed aboard our buggy, followed by Armstrong. Sourtooth strode up, as well. “Bold plan, little brother. But what should happen, should your ruse she see through?”
“It’s not a ruse,” I said. “I’m sending Chuck with two choppers to help the Gorgers. Armstrong, see to it.”
“Aye, boss!”
Sourtooth sputtered as he watched the hobgoblin dash off. “What?! Not a—we need every chopper we have! And likely a few more, in order to take down that whistler. I can’t spare any to help the Blood Gorgers. Need remind you, I, that the Blood Gorgers themselves are but a totem away from claiming the mantle of champions, just as the Dawn is?”
I nodded. “Like I said, it’s not a bluff. It’s an extortion. Lura knows I’m desperate to get the Flock a kill. She also knows that set in motion, whatever arrangement might be made, my chopper pilots will never hear of it because they won’t ever be given access to the Gorgers’ keeper. It’s in her best interest now for us to take down the whistler before the Blood Gorgers take down their totem with our help.”
A voice piped up from the engine. “I believe this plan will work.”
Sourtooth grumbled. “A devious plan. Very orcish, little brother. But it ride’s the knife’s edge. Gamble your tribe’s empty bellies on out-priding a very prideful woman.”
It was a gamble. I was gambling with the lives of the entire tribe. But attempts to introduce agriculture weren’t working with goblins eating all the roots and seeds, except for the ones they forgot where they planted. Farming would never keep up with the pace the tribe expanded—They’d help, but by the time crops grew, there’d be twice as many goblins to feed. I doubted anyone would be willing to send shipments of food or grain deep into the Lanclovan interior, either, so trade was out. The orcs were the only ones that didn’t hate us, but their version of trade was more along the lines of If you have something I want, I’ll trade it for you keeping your life.
Livestock was the only calorie-dense food capable of supporting us in the short term until I got the tribe big enough to take a shot at the moon. And Lura had to know why I was forcing her hand.