Fire at Huntsville wasn’t unusual. In an outpost dedicated to fuel production and iron refining, it was really a mainstay of the settlement. But the airship dock had been built to be isolated from the worst of it. Well, that didn’t seem to matter, as the deck of Gemini was burning, and so was the rigging, even as the scat braziers went full-blast, pumping her envelope with hot air to strain her against the stressed and smoldering mooring.
I dipped the cyclic forward. Not really sure what I’d do when I got there, I still pushed us forward. The airships were too important—not only for transportation and exploration, but for power projection. We had to do something. But even as I watched, a series of small explosions rippled across the deck, illuminating the trio of tiny silhouettes onboard.
Elves.
I grit my teeth. “Armstrong. Target the deck.”
A burst of flame twisted from the front of the chopper as my scrapper chief checked the nozzles clear on his burn’em. The three elven commandos, having done their sabotage, leapt from the deck and were caught by flock of swamp bats, who carried them out into the night. I turned the chopper after them, giving chase. The goblins aboard took potshots at the bats, but their erratic flight and fluttering wings made them evasive.
The elves themselves weren’t helpless either. Encased in their moss disguises, I couldn’t see what level they were. But even as the bats flew, the elves waved small wooden staffs at us, and emerald light began to shoot across the distance. One of them struck the front of the chopper, and a mass of thorned vines and creepers burst from the site of impact, strong enough to warp the metal of the frame and jam up the mount for the burn’em. Armstrong shouted as he pulled back but grabbed his cleaver and began hacking away at the growth.
Magic. Combat magic. The first I’d seen. Sourtooth had warned me that the elves were skilled mages. Beside us, another emerald ray hit the the rotor mast of another helicopter, and the rotor tore itself apart in mid-air. Some of the goblins bailed, but not all of them managed to make it out before the helicopter hit the ground.
Yikes. If we took a hit like that, we’d be down, too. I pulled the throttle wide open, pushing the engine RPMs to dangerous limits as the aircraft tried to shake itself apart.
“Armstrong, roast ‘em!”
Armstrong finished pulling the last of the creepers out of the gun mount and stuffed them into his mouth. He chewed the thorny vines as he angled the flamethrower up. The jet of flame shot out, scorching a jet of fuel that forced the bats out of cohesion. Half the flock carried one elf north, the other split east with the other pair. I yanked my stick to the right, following the bats that had flown east. Several choppers followed me, but at least 3 went after the northward bats.
The elves we chased still had more tricks up their sleeves. He waved his stick, and a thick cloud of bubbling green mist unfolded between us. Every goblin instinct in me screamed, and I banked us hard. Armstrong hit the cloud with his flames, and they diffused and sputtered within it. Passing by, I got a whiff of some cold gas that made my nose go numb, and I shuddered.
We’d closed the difference, somewhat, despite the elves’ tricks. One of my riflemen managed to wing the bat the creature rode on, and the elf tumbled off, to then be swooped up by a replacement. I grit my teeth. They were experts at controlling these animals. I didn’t know what limitations (if any) their magic had, either. But I knew the limits of our machines. The engine behind me rattled and shook, belching back, pungent smoke out over the swamp. Peat bog began to give way to the tops of the thick trees as we pursued the elves east. I didn’t dare let up on the throttle, but I also didn’t know how much longer the engine would hold out.
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More rockettes lanced out from the goblins poking their weapons through the frame of the chopper. I saw several more of the large bog bats taken out. The elves continued bounding from back-to-back, launching green rays at us that I made every effort to dodge. One of my other choppers closed in from the left, boxing them in. Either the engines would give out or the elves would run out of bats.
A shadow passed over us, and I glanced up at the broad wings silhouetted against the moon and grinned. With a glider from the bluff come to intercept, the elves were cooked. I grabbed the handset. “Signal the planes to cut off their escape route. Armstrong! Lay it on ‘em, keep their focus on us!”
Armstrong kept the fire on, but the weapon sputtered and spat flaming droplets. “We’re outta juice, boss!”
“We’ve still got rifles.”
My scrapper chief let go of the burn’em and pulled his rifle from where he’d jammed it He lined it up, and the crack of the double barrels sent a pair of rockettes spiraling towards his target. Another bat went down, and they were running out of animals. One of the emerald rays hit the chopper on our right, square in the cockpit. It veered off, spiraling as the goblins inside were assaulted with the thorny vines.
On the left, our other wingmate ran out of juice for his turbine pump burn’em, as well. And then one of our goblins finally managed an impossible feat of goblin marksmanship. They hit one of the elves square center mass, and the tiny form was jerked completely off the bat, tumbling through the air.
The other shouted, sounding like a pitched-down TV chipmunk, and reached out his hand to his companion. One down, one to go. Behind me, the engine struggled, sputtering. I could feel the heat of it through the firewall.
“Finish him off!” I shouted.
Armstrong took aim at the last of the elves and started to line up his shot. Before he could, a shadow swept over us and something crashed into the waning flock of bats. I was confused for a moment, but my crew started to panic immediately. Then I realized the wings didn’t belong to a glider after all. We’d flown back into the forest. At night.
“Night haunts!” shouted Armstrong.
Ahead of us, the flying predator shredded what was left of the bats. I saw the tiny form of the elf in free-fall toward the forest. At first I thought he was dead, and then I saw a tiny, olive-colored canopy open up and swore. The little jerk had a parachute!
I yanked back on the controls, but the night haunt was already banking around toward us. Shots from the rifles only made it mad, and it latched onto the side of the chopper. Its weight threatened to pull us over, and it screamed as the shock wires bit into it. Quick as lightning, it snapped up one of the rifle-toting goblins and flung it out into the night, before launching itself off.
I tried to track it, but it was so fast, and hard to see in the failing light. It hit us again from the left side, and then rockettes started to impact the chopper from our wingmate trying to intercede. Several struck the night haunt, but not before it speared two goblins with its sword-like beak.
On the ground we could swarm and overwhelm night haunts, but the night sky was their domain, and we’d chased the elf into it. I spotted two more shadows overhead against Raphina’s reflected light and grit my teeth. The creatures were too swift and too nimble for the helicopters to handle, and the crews were too small to deal with the higher-level predator. One of them stooped and struck the other helicopter in a surge of sparks and squawking goblins. I saw the flash of tesla spears as they tried to force it off the dangerously unbalanced aircraft.
Hauling on the cyclic, I wheeled us around. “Retreat!” I called. “Signal the retreat!”
The night haunts continued to harry us as we fled back to Huntsville. We tried to respond, but all in all, by the time we reached the bog, we’d lost a dozen more goblins to hit and run attacks, being completely outmaneuvered. The creatures broke off their pursuit, heading back into the woodlands.
No matter how big the tribe grew, no matter the advances we made, the vast majority of the tribe was still level 1 creatures that were little more than snacks to the predators of Rava, and the slow, bumbling helicopters might as well have been a dinner platter. We owned the sky during the day, but it was still a night haunt’s world when the sun was down. We couldn’t fight them like this—especially not multiples.
Silver linings, we’d at least taken out another of the elves. Sourtooth had said they’d have come in a team of 6, which meant there were only four left—one of which was now isolated somewhere in the woods between Huntsville and Village Apollo.
Maybe the other chopper team had gotten lucky with their pursuit of the other elf, but I wasn’t counting on it.