The New World

[The Corsair]

-Nigel-

A few miles out of Raleigh, a transmission came over the radio. The voice sounded agitated.
"Who are you?"
The captain aboard the Juggler had smartly kept the gentleman on the far side of the transmission occupied while Garrow was shuffled into a small ship to make the hop over to the Frigate.
"He won't fire, but he wants to keep us talking while we approach the city." the Juggler's captain informed him.
Garrow grabbed the speaking unit for the radio and held it to his mouth.
"This is Captain Garrow of the USAS Hammer. Talk to me. What's the state of the place?"
"Intact, mostly, Captain." Came the awkwardly stuttered reply. "Draw a triangle between Raleigh, Charlotte and Greensboro, that's still standing. The rest of the place is rubble."
"Congratulations on a successful defence then."
The rest of the conversation was mainly "Still there?" and "Yes."

Upon arrival, they were guided to a makeshift ground dock, Raleigh's small Sky Dock having been damaged to the point where it had to land to be repaired. A man in a Captain's uniform greeted Garrow and the captains of the other two ships. Hands were shaken and names were exchanged. The man greeting them was apparently Michael Hartsworth and he had assumed control of the remaining forces in North Carolina, just as Skarssen had done in New York.

The four of them quickly got to discussing what Garrow had flown down there for. Captain Hartsworth had plans to search further south but hadn't wanted to move any ships too far away.
"But," he told them, "I'd be prepared to lend maybe two or three ships to your command so you can mount a proper search of South Carolina as you've planned."
That part of the deal was easily struck.
"Captain Hartsworth, we also have something else to discuss. Captain Henry Skarssen has assumed command of the remaining forces in and around New York, which includes some... gifted individuals who can perhaps better help us fight this enemy. I would suggest you, therefore, that you move your forces to New York so we may mount a more coordinated campaign against this threat to America."
"What about my civilian population? They will evacuate I'm sure but it's a lot of distance between here and New York and they simply can't be expected to travel that sort of distance unassisted." Hartsworth promptly responded.
"We can spare enough ships to mount a quick evacuation. If I send one of the smaller ships aboard the Implacable back north we can have evacuation ships down here by mid-morning tomorrow. How many survivors are there?"
"Approximately a hundred thousand. Does New York have that much to spare?"
"If we move quickly then yes."

The fighter airship Wasp arrived in New York at 12:30 AM and within 30 minutes it had left again with enough ships to transport the surviving population of North Carolina back up to New York. Garrow had left Raleigh and continued his search thoroughly pleased with himself. He felt like quite the negotiator, he had won New York a fleet and military force about half the size of its own.

Columbia was next.

[Ella, Aerial Musketeer]

Ela looked at Hugo "do you want me to stay" she pointed to the wings "these need a lot of repair and it will take me some time, i cant go with out them"

[YetAnotherMatt]

"Finding one man in a city. Potentially problematic. We could try scanning for dense aether disturbances. Excluding you, that should only leave us with people like Forsythe."

The problem with plan was somewhat obvious, in that they didn't have anything to work with in terms of scanning.

"I can try to put something together, but I might need a few hours."

[Mark Peiterson]

The ships landed softly. Only 10 had landed at current, but more where descending. All around him was the evidence that his nightmares had come true. He really wasn’t up for conversation. And by the looks of it neither was the nurse who he was standing next to. She had tears rolling down her face. He should do something, but he was never good with women. He was just…. Awkward.
Anyway there where bigger issues for him to face.
He had expected people to flock to ships for help, but it seems that they were wary of attack from the sky’s.
“Captain Robinson, pass me the Voice Projector please.”
“Certainly.”
“Thank you.” He said politely “let’s give this a go shall we.”
“People of Boston, this is First Sergeant Mark Peiterson of the United States Army. We are here to evacuate, Repeat EVACUATE. This is NOT an attack. This is NOT an attack.”
And he lowered the Projector a cautious Captain asked “ now what?”
“we Wait”

[The Corsair]

"Well you have until tomorrow morning which leaves about 16 hours so you should have plenty of time knowing your tinkering skill my good man."
He decided to leave Gebbert at this point, realising the man had no more of an idea as to what search methods to use than he did. He decided he would be best served doing other things to entertain himself while his subconscious turned over the dilemma slowly, prying for an opening it could exploit to find a solution. Kevin must have kept things on this ship for amusement on long journeys...

The hours passed solidly while he read a few books on piloting and aviation and, when he had enough of that, on business theory. He didn't think about whether such a thing would be useful but he really didn't care. It was just a way to pass the time. And time did pass. Night sauntered its shadowy way over the airship's cabin and Falko was forced to move from his seat to turn on the electric lamps on the flight deck and further back in the small lounge. They would definitely reach Nashville by daytime.


-Arch-

Chicago was a miserable place to stop for the night. Then again, every place seemed miserable at this point. His own flight deck felt dreary and oppressive. The communal room in the Saxon felt grim. Nothing was pleasant. He couldn't begin to imagine what grief Tommy must have felt if this was what he himself was feeling. It was going to be a long journey too by the looks of things so the sad sickness that hung over them didn't look like it would be passing soon. By tomorrow they would be somewhere around North Dakota he guessed so it would be at least two more days of flying until they arrived with their dreadful news.

[Blindwalker]

"Alright, if you have to." he replied.
A soldier that was in his squad was running through the groups of doctors that were still tending to the wounded. "Officer! Officer!" he shouted.
"Johnson, is that you?" He checked the young man's face for anything that he could recognize to tell him he was Johnson. His face was scarred, some torn, and he had a note in his hand.
"Sir. First Private Johnson." He stood to attention.
"There's no need to do that. This is informal right?"
"Of course sir." he glanced at the young lady sitting at a chair. He flushed furiously.
"I am sorry if I am intruding your privacy."
"Not at all. What do you need to tell me in such a rush?"
"Everyone has survived the fall from the leading airship." He suddenly looked worried. "You have been resigned from the US Army." He handed Hugo the note.
"What?" he was surprised. The note read:

To Rank 2 Senior Officer Hugo Machus,

I am to inform you, because you have given the command to a spearhead formation, you must take responsibility of the destruction of the USAS Modern Gear, and the USAS Thunder.
Because you have given the last command of these ships, you are now resigned from the US Army.

From Corporal Frank Hellinser

The note ended.
Hugo sighed, and put his face in his hands.
"It has been an honor fighting by your side, sir." Johnson saluted.
Another man rushed through the line of doctors.
He walked up to Hugo's bed. He wore a faded brown bandana, but his clothes were neat. He grabbed something from one of his deep pockets.
Another note.
Hugo took it. It said:

"Hugo Machus,
                   
                   Welcome to the Freelancers."

[Ella, Aerial Musketeer]

"Alright, if you have to." he replied. she relaxed. "Officer! Officer!" a man shouted why must here be SO MUCH noise she thort to her self "Johnson, is that you?" and then the man, johnson, stood to attention and conversation ensured Ela largely ignored them but she looked up to see the man quite flushed she quickly looked down agin and felt her own checks flush why must this always happen and concerned her self  her self with fixing her wings.
A horrid silence filed the air Ela looked up when she herd a sigh: it was Hugo and he had his face in his hands
"whats the matter, it cant be that bad... can it"

[Augustus Longeye]

"Captain, how close are they?" Julius asked the man, looking over at the five ships that had appeared on the horizon.
"About thirty miles out sir, they're turning and it looks like they mean to intercept." the man had taken control of the ship for now, his first mate standing behind him bristling with energy and the regular pilot standing to one side nervously.
"Right, any flags or marks yet?"
"No idea sir, they're too far out to see anything more than specs. Unfortunately they're in front of us, so we need to go through them to get to Texas. We can't go round, the detour would take us days, and there's no guarantee they won't just follow us."
"Well captain, we don't' know that they're going to attack us just yet. Continue on, but prepare for battle. I want everyone in line formation, move two cannons to the prow and we'll see what happens."
"Aye sir." the captain began to give rapid orders to the first mate, who again began yelling things at people. It was a rather efficient system really, everyone only needed to worry about one thing. The captain worried about what to do, the first mate then worried about who would do it, and the person worried about how to do it then did it. In theory anyway.
Julius returned to his room whilst he waited. He'd been given a fairly large room below the captains chambers, and had enough room for a simple bed and a desk, along with a trunk that had been filled with things he'd mostly been given. When he'd first seen it he'd realized he had literally nothing but the clothes on his back and a broken airship in the hanger. A quick look around the hanger had found a few bits and pieces, and a small chest of money from the previous owner. He'd liberated everything, sold a few things when they'd stopped for supplies and bought a few more. He now had the sword that had been forged for him only a few weeks ago strapped to his belt, and a new waistcoat in bright green over a shirt.
Right now it was time to calm down and get ready for another battle. He lay down on the bed and tried to calm himself. He hadn't slept yet, all it took was to lie down and close his eyes then relax, and he quickly felt as rested as he had after the best nights sleep in England.
He shut his eyes, took a few breaths and waited for someone to tell him they were withing identifying range.

[CogsNsuch]

As the rubble shudders and breaks away from the pile it was so unexpectedly placed, a young man emerges - Stanley Hobbs. With a quick check of his pockets and a deep sigh of relief as he holds onto his only possession, other then his clothes; a large golden telescope, engraved with the words 'Vision without action is a dream', is taken out and with a quick lens check, put away delicately. He brushed away the dust, inspected his boots for any unforeseeable scuffs and proceeds to walk away from the mess. During the quick departure he looks back on the wreckage he has just emerged from, he coughs and removes any Flem that has become present in his throat during the blackout, he expresses,if not all amazement in just one word - "Wow". Within just a few minutes he has made his way to the central part of the war-torn New York, a place once so proud now lays scarred. Eventually the effects from the crash kick in and all his previous memories start picking away at his mind, sweat and tears drown his face as the past events and sudden realisation overwhelm his head - he blacks out, landing in the same position he awoke in.

[YetAnotherMatt]

By midnight, the shadow of a device was forming on the navigation desk, which Gebbert had appropriated as a workbench. A pair of long metal antennae were connected to a small brass amalgamation of dials and gears. Gebbert was hampered by the lack of equipment that the Harlequin's Wife had been carrying. Nevertheless, the device was functional. He hung it from the ceiling on a spare coat hanger, and hooked it into the ship's electrics.

As it powered on, one antenna rotated to point up, and one rotated to point down. Gebbert turned a handle, and the antennae started to move around their vertical axis, until the small light that was attached flashed. Gebbert smiled- the antennae were still pointing up and down, but were now oriented back towards the lounge where Falko and Rosie were. He turned another gear, and the antennae rotated ninety degrees to point left and right. They started to move around, but settled level with the deck again. Gebbert smiled.

He strode down the passageway to the lounge, and knocked firmly on the door. "Falko? I've got something working, but I'm going to need some spare copper or brass plating. Also, I'm going to need a way to suspend something about five meters down from the gondola."

[The Corsair]

He'd passed the time overnight so far spending time with Rosie. Gebbert's ability to distract himself by building the device worked in their favour and the two of them had managed to get some of the privacy and alone time he had hoped for in this short voyage. When Gebbert came to him with a working device for finding the mysterious Admiral he was an odd mix of annoyed and glad.

He began to process Gebbert's words, trying to find solutions to his two issues.
"As far as suspending it goes..." he began slowly, "There's probably some rope around... does it need to be centred or can it just hang off the railing?" It was a rhetorical question really. Gebbert probably had the sense to realise that.
There was a pause
"Oh and plating, I think there's some spare panels in the hold at the aft of the envelope. God knows what Kevin used them for. They should be alright for whatever needs to be done." He finished, hoping Gebbert caught the slight 'and don't disturb us too often' undertone in his voice.

As dawn flirted its way over the ship that Falko and Rosie had monitored through the night, snuggled together against the cold on the flight deck, he could see the lights of Williamsburg, putting them a few more hours' flight from Nashville. No doubt Gebbert would soon show himself giving a progress report on his invention. Falko's main hope was that it was ready. Their search for the Alchemyst a few days earlier had been a failed mess and searching in that manner again would be of little to no help by his guesses.

[Miss Alva]

It was with an odd mixture of fear and relief that overtook the red-skinned woman, and from the skies she drew her eyes towards the ships upon them, standing up withing a second. And the voices! They were good voices, decent, human voices that could rally them all to safety upon one of these flying machines, and then the world would be right....in a way. There was no denying that the homes they had loved and lost were forever more just piles of rubbish on the streets, at least until local government began to rebuild itself. That could take years, and frankly, Alva did not want to hang around that long. She was upon the landed ships in a moment, her cockatoo hanging on for dear life with his talons, digging into her skin with the ferocity of a raptor. "Hey!" she yelled up at one of the ships. She had a nasty habit of personifying the ships she loved so dearly, and wiped away some grime from her angled face.

"Alright, um....I guess I'm the one in charge down here" she said looking back to her ragtag group of survivors and then back tot he ship, biting her lip tentatively, "So 'ow's about we get them all loaded up, aaaand I can has a talk with you, eh? Or sommat. I dunno how these 'rescue' things normally work, I haven't done this before"

[YetAnotherMatt]

Throughout the night, the low background noise of mechanical work went on. It reached a crescendo just before dawn, with two clangs that gave the impression that Gebbert was trying to force a piece of machinery into a place where it didn't want to be. That was more or less what was happening.

An hour out of Nashville, Gebbert walked onto the deck, carrying what looked like an 18 inch box made of scrap plating, with two five foot antennae leading off it. It trailed about eighteen feet of rope behind it, snaking out the door and back into the passageway. "It's done. If it looks like it was cobbled together in a rush out of bits and pieces by someone who had no idea what they were doing, it's because three of those things are true."

"It will take about 30 minutes to find the Admiral, more if you want to be more precise than a city-block or so. And we need to remain in one place, as still as possible, for that duration." Taking note of the slightly incredulous looks he was getting, he gestured to the rope. "That's because if it's too close to either of you, it's not going to find anything other than you. I need to hang it off the gondola, or all we'll find out is exactly where the two of you are."

[The Corsair]

They were about an hour out of Nashville when a sense of humour floated into the front of the cabin, the breeze of comedy carrying it in front of its owner. Falko was surprised at Gebbert's joke. He guessed that, given Gebbert's age, it was probably not the first joke the German had ever uttered but it was the first Falko had heard from him. He gave a slight smile at the joke, it was far too deadpan to warrant a laugh, and resolved that he would not ask which of the listed conditions had been fulfilled.

"Excellent. If we can hang around above the Sky Dock there then we should be able to go unnoticed for the required time."
It was only when he brought the device and Nashville together in a solid plan that the danger and reality of the situation freight-trained their way into his mind. He felt afraid. Thank God Gebbert chose that moment to wander off because he suddenly clung quite boyishly to Rosie, who had to comfort him and return him to that state of self-esteem held by a man.

Rosie was, of course, terrified. Falko had the plan, the ideas. He had the plan aboard the ship, he had the plan in San Francisco, he had the plan both times in New York. She hadn't the same nerve he seemed to have. Though she did have to admit to herself that in their brief time re-united aboard this inherited ship he had seemed less steadfast than she had imagined him to be. She had to remind herself that they had known each other for less than two months and that she was in fact gaining a more realistic impression of the man she had fallen in love with.

Nashville sauntered its way towards them from the horizon and in the hours of the morning that were early for the late-wakers and late for the early-wakers they found themselves suspended over the Sky Docks of Nashville.

[Mark Peiterson]

The silence was deafening, no one had replied, he was just about to repeat his message when he heard a voice bellow his. "Alright, um....I guess I'm the one in charge down here" He almost gasped in relief.  "So 'ow's about we get them all loaded up, aaaand I can has a talk with you, eh? Or sommat. I dunno how these 'rescue' things normally work, I haven't done this before"
He barked at the captain to land the ships, and get them on board, then made his way over to the entrance deck. He wasn't one to turn down requests easily.
As the door opened he felt a slight breeze lick his forehead. ahead he saw the rag tag group of survivors. And walked towards them to meet them.

[The Corsair]

-Nigel-

Columbia was in a similarly half-intact state, though definitely more damaged that the surviving cities of the North were.

In similar fashion to his arrival at Raleigh he was ushered into a building with the man who had assumed command of this slice of the US army. Despite the appearance of more damage to the city there had been less soldiers lost proportionately than there had been in New York. The fighting was bitter, according to Highest Commander Dexter (which was a title entirely invented by the man, Harold Dexter), but he had made a point of being firmly entrenched in a few buildings that had been converted into fortresses in the few hours they had between the fleet being spotted and the fleet arriving. It seemed that they had found more success by not attempting to match their superior foe in the air, something Skarssen would surely take on board.
The negotiation was, of course, fierce (a man who had titled himself Highest Commander was only going to be haughty and aggressive) and quickly broke into sparring-matches of shouting until eventually Nigel had to abandon Columbia.

The disappointment showed firmly on his face when he re-boarded the Implacable but hidden somewhere in his eyebrows was a speckle of determination. Haughty Crackpot Dexter had let slip that he had already begun coordinating his own efforts to round up military forces with the intention of waging war against the foe that he clearly had little understanding of. Because of Dexter's authoritarianism he had yet to send his search fleet off. It greatly outnumbered that which Garrow commanded but he had a both a head start and a few smaller, faster ships.

The Implacable had 2 gunships that had been undergoing speedy repairs in its larger docks and had maybe a dozen or so fighters at its command. Combined with the speedy Corvettes Caroline and Alice, the latter having been among the four ships lent to Garrow by Hartsworth, and the fighters the other Frigates had to spare Garrow commanded a little under a hundred ships that could search a decent part of South Carolina before Dexter's search fleet could. The order to send everything off was, of course, intensely risky but he couldn't lose such enormous chunks of potential army to a man who would likely waste them in poorly-planned engagements borne of foolishness and egotistical commanding.

Nigel had of course not really considered the implications of meeting military secessionists who did not wish to join Skarssen in New York but was now forced to contemplate the disturbingly real possibility that small wars broke out between the military factions that seemed to be cropping up like weeds (weeds with rifles, granted) all across the south-eastern seaboard. He had to hop that Dexter didn't spontaneously change his plans of searching the rest of the state to instead come and wipe out Garrow's substantially smaller fleet. He had no choice but to wait out the hours while his ships searched as much land as possible. They had been given eight hours.

[MWBailey]

Harper's Ferry, Virginia, 12:30 AM
the moon rose, a sideways-tilted crescent, from the seaward horizon. Thing can't hold water like that, mused the guard on duty, There'll be no rain for a fortni--!

The guard slumped to the boards of the dock as his life ran out of the slash across carotid, windpipe and jugular gaped.  A dark figure joined others which broke the locks of  both the small side and the large front doors of the hangar. The Harper's Ferry United States Military Arsenal and Testing Site had not originally been planned to house such extensive aeronautical facilities or accommodate such a large supporting garrison, but it had been done, and many advances had been made -- and now several such, incorporated into one truly formidable war machine, were being stolen right out from under the government's nose. The dark figures were soldiers and crewmen, not pirates, though the line between the two distinctions would be blurred significantly very soon. Their captain's uniform and face were revealed in the wan light of the crescent moon as he stepped out from the concealing shadows at the base of the hangar, just as was the stern of their prize, the Aerial warship USAS Demologos II, and its shipname were revealed as she was hauled out on the groaning and metallically-shrieking trolley on which she rested, as operationally-essential crew swarmed aboard and began prepping her for takeoff.

Before long, boilers were stoked, domes were roaring-in, and huge dynamos deep within the metal behemoth screamed and whined to life as as the scalding, vaprous lifeblood of the beast was diverted to drive them. The hue and cry of alarm was being raised in the town across the river, and a loudspeaker crackled to life from among the rapidly-deploying guardsmen who had been shaken awake by the revival of the beast as her crew brought her to life.

"CAPTAIN HILDEBRANDT, AND CREW OF USAS Demologos II, YOU ARE ORDERED TO STAND DOWN AND SURRENDER YOUR VESSEL. THE DEMOLOGOS IS SCHEDULED FOR SCRAPPING AS PER THE RECENT TREATY OF VERBRUGGEN. YOUR ACTIONS ARE TREASONABLE. SURRENDER OR YOU WILL BE SHOT WHERE YOU STAND!"

Captain Hildebrandt laughed, as did his crew, and he clicked on the loudspeaker. "THEDEMOLOGOS IS A WEAPON THAT CANNOT BE DESTROYED BY TREATY OR AGRESSORS," he answered. "BY SUPPORTING THE RIDICULOUS TREATY AND ITS SIGNERS, YOU REVEAL YOURSELVES AS TRAITORS TO THE NEW ORDER. YOU WILL STAND DOWN, NOT US -- OR BE SHOT WHERE YOU STAND."

As bullets and shells from the Guardsmen's weaponry futilely struck the newly-liberated battlewagon, Hildebrandt gave the order, and the ship rose, turned broadside to the deployed guardsmen, and the gatlings opened fire, huge-bore rounds ripping and slashing through their ranks, as blood splashed and the reports of the guns and the screams of the dying rent the air.

The Guard colonel watched as his men were cut down all around him, and their hastily-deployed artillery was smashed to flinders. This can't be happening! he thought. We should be able to bring this bird down easy as pie! Airships're easy to shoot down!

"Why!?" he shouted aloud, C'mon you laggards!! "All we should have to do is hole her gasbags, and she'll fall!"

"She doesn't have gasbags, sir," the first sergeant said. The colonel had given the order to fall back to cover, and thus they had ended up behind a now-partially-shot-apart wall. "Looks like that bunch of freebooters we've 'eard tell of are our only hope. At last we heard, one of their ships was making way here to check on our situation and render aid, or so the rumors said."

"No need fer that!" the colonel exclaimed, as a new drone filled the air from seaward, "here comes the Ticonderoga!"

Barely ten minutes later, the Demologos II continued inland as the USAS Ticonderoga's remains burned and her munitions exploded in the river bottom, her hull and spine ripped apart; the captain of the Demologos II had ruthlessly decided to demonstrate the effectiveness of the stolen ship's ram. Not a single round from the guardsmen, the Ticonderoga, or the Town's shore defenses had pierced the purloined dreadnought...

Somewhere over Western Virginia, 1:11 AM
Fergus was wakened from a dream of flowers and his beloved sister's smile, to the decidedly-less-comforting sound of his first officer's voice telling him, "Sir, sorry to wake you, but something really disturbing just came over the wireless; seems there's a rogue airship marauding the state of Virginia, and from the sound of the reports, she's a real monster, with a captain and crew to match."

[YetAnotherMatt]

With the device securely tied to the rail of the gondola, Gebbert gave the connecting rope a hearty tug before gently dropping the device off the side. The rope went taut, and the small pair of dials on the hand-held attachment that Gebbert held started to spin. He watched as the antennae started to turn slowly. "Like I said, it should take anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour, depending on precision." He suddenly developed a strange expression, as if he had just realised something. "I know you were busy last night, but, just before I interrupted you the first time, say five minutes beforehand, you didn't happen to notice anything unusual, did you?"

[The Corsair]

Falko made noises that one would generally make when thinking before claiming he remembered nothing unusual and inquired as to why Gebbert asked. The truth was he wouldn't have noticed much at the time outside of what was immediately happening, and Gebbert's interruption of course.

-Tommy-

The night in Chicago had, for him, been filled with heavy-handed slaps of alcohol. Now in bad winds and intimidating clouds that required all his concentration to navigate he somewhat regretted the night. He had needed it though, so he couldn't feel too sour about it, but then again the slight pang of regret and general lowness of his physical state had left his mind no free moments to further think about Kevin. People around him had died before. He was a privateer, people died all the time. He knew that if he passed on the news then, to him at least, the whole thing would be gone and he could carry on with things even if he had to fight back sadness at times. Plus, the weather was starting to ease and, not to speak to quickly, was turning in their favour. When Arch called the inevitable meeting to discuss whether or not they should fly late into the night to make it all the way to Vancouver he would definitely be pushing for the go ahead. He wanted this voyage over with.

-Nigel-

After four hours a good half of the ships had returned, the Corvettes being among them. They hadn't found much left standing but what they had found was aware of the imminent arrival of Dexter and were supposedly leaving in whatever vehicles they could muster to the coordinates of Garrow's present location. As the first few survivors arrived Garrow's teeth began to clench as the sick anticipation threw buckets of itself over him.

[MWBailey]

A slight, girlish figure in fliers blues and a leather flight cap from under which a few wisps of light chestnut hair atempted to make their escape, a lone Airfleet dispatch flier, sat at the bar in Newport News' waterfront, nursing a neat gin and brooding.

The port town had seen little of the devastation visited on the rest of the american continent, due to the stiff defense put up by the garrisons and air fleet vessels berthed in the area; once Virginia's leaders had realized that no help was forthcoming from the rest of the country, they had been phenomenally successful in convincing the military commanders to support the state's cause. thus, the Commonwealth of Virginia became a true commonwealth, virtually a country unto itself. With Washington in ruins, Virginia had become a sort of last bastion of peace and sanity -- but it had come at a terrible price.

Fully two hundred warships had been available before the sinister black-hulled fleet hove over the horizon. They had actually managed to beat back the enemy -- but only just. Another such victory would be unlikely, if not completely impossible. Fully two-thirds of the Fleet of Northern Virginia, as it had been hastily christened, had been utterly destroyed. Three coastal forts had been badly damaged, and one rivermouth installation had been completely obliterated, its rock island nearly vanished after a horrific explosion completely destroyed the fort which had been built upon it. The land fiorces and the land itself had not fared much better.

Richmond was in ruins, some city environs still smoldering. The Appalachian mountains and its peoples had fought off the enemy but it had been a situation, in the end, much like that of Germany in the Thirty Years and Hundred Years Wars: the valleys were the key, and while it didn't take a hundred years, it did take a terribly long period of time to liberate or relieve each valley and keep them all clean and clear of the enemy. Lives had been lost, wasted, sacrificed and given away to an extent not seen since the Civil War, and many expressed the opinion that it was even worse than that, with fields not only sown with the ghastly corpses and blood of the fallen, but scorched by fire and ravaged by gas and acid as well, and salted with the ashes and other noxious detritus of what had come off as several long, running firefights. towns and cities in the hills were alternately destroyed or left uncannily untouched.

Only the 'Brains Fleet,' the group of various and sundry experimental and garrison vessels at Harper's ferry, and its garrison, small army, really, of guards and watchmen were intact as a unit, and what a ragtag unit it had been even before The Battle for Virginia -- and now the lynchpin of that unit, the nearly-invincible aerial dreadnought Demologos II , had been stolen, by her iown crew, no less, and was reportedly being used to plunder what the Battle had left intact.

No, Arabella Jiroux thought as she nursed her gin, It's not as if we can fight a battle like that one again anytime soon, not without help.

"Bartender?" she called.

The fellow so addressed sauntered over adn answered, "yeah? What'll it be Miss?"

"How much I owe you?"  'Bella asked, keeping the rest of he barroom in sight via the mirror behiond the bar and the corner of one eye. The group of bravos over in the corner beside the raucously-banging piano had been eyeing her for some time; it was beginning to annoy her. She loosened her short cutlass and pistol in their scabbard and holster in passing as she made a bit of a show of fishing out her cash and paid the bill.

With Luck, maybe I can get airborne before those pukes can start anything, she thought wistfully as she exited the bar and made her way quickly to the rooftop where several air vehicles were variously berthed, docked, tethered or parked. Hers, a military dispatch airbike, sat huddled in the corner of the roof, its escape valve emitting a muffled hiss. she didn't always keep the firebox lit and  a head of steam ready, but recent events, the Battle included, had made her wary. Plus, while it was really the property of the US military, she still considered it hers, and not just because said military was largely nonexistent these days.

To be blunt, she feared what might happen if she were caught flatfooted with no steam; the MOFF Lift technology it operated on to stay airborne was not really new (The Demologos II was a new form of that same tech, a far cry from her tiny airbike though it might have been), but she still feared it might be stolen, much the same as a thoroughbred in a backlot stable might be.

'Bella had reason to thank her paranoia as she moved teh lever that started the dynamo and thus sent power to teh MOFF unit, giving the bike bouyancy. As she climbed aboard the saddle and felt the comforting heat of the firebox and the warming of the arrays, coupled with the nestling comfort of the saddle's leather cushion, she heard the sound of those same rough voices rising up the stairway to the roof. "yeah, Blighty, she can't be gone already! That whine? whatever she's got's just warmin'; up! We gots plenty o' time!

Yeah, even a blimp'd have to be untied first!"

"Sorry , boys," she called down as she rose into the air astride the airbike, "You'll have to wait 'til next time!"

Curses and challenges rose to her ears as the thugs managed to get their soggy-looking blimp into the air; the nighttime dew had drenched everything, even her own ride, and she had been slightly delayed in wiping off the seat, control levers and handlebars. she engaged the forward prop, leaving the stern prop idle, and took off into the nighttime sky, heading for the Airfleet Hangars a mile away.

A bullet spanged harmlessly off of the undercarriage, and another whistled away off to starboard as the thugs guns spoke of ill intent. She drew the long-barrelled .44 caliber Colt Navy revolver, rechambered and altered to fire centerfire cartridges, and fired back . She guessed that she must have holed the gasbag, as the blimp began to lose altituide while the thugs screamed ineffectually at each other and scurried around trying to find some way to stay airborne.  She snickered and holstered her weapon, engaged the rear prop as well, and sped off just above the gathering fog, the whiiiiine of the dynamo and MOFF merging with the chattering whirrrrr of the steam powerplant and fading into the distance.

[Blindwalker]

He sat there. Staring at the two notes in his lap. He needed time. He need a LOT of sleep.
"I'm fine.. just need a bit of time take this in."
He looked up and turned towards the Freelancer messenger, but he wasn't there.
"You might want to find somewhere to sleep apart from dozing on a chair, by the way,"
 he yawned.

[Ella, Aerial Musketeer]

"O yea good point" she pointed to her wings "i need to go out and get some parts but i will be back later i will sort it out then"
and with that she left the triage and started to wonder down to her farther old shop

[Thebeastyness]

Axel awoke with blurry, bloodshot eyes. He had been asleep for hours possibly days. The numbness that engulfed his entire body was almost painful. His senses and even very being itself seemed dulled. After a large amount of willpower he managed to prop himself up on what looked like an operating table. Axel managed to croak out a weak "Where am I?". He thought he heard muffled voices, he strained himself and thought he heard what sounded like "...was a success..." and "... a marvel of modern engineering". There was an abrupt hiss of opening doors. Axel desperately tried to remember where he was but his mind was blank. "Hello Axel" a cold harsh voice penetrated the uncomfortable silence "Did you sleep well?"

Axel sluggishly turned his head towards the voice. He saw the vague shadow of a man. Strange he looked almost familiar...
Axel attempted to bark "Who are you?" but it came out as a pathetic whimper.
"Really Axel? Have you forgotten me already?" the cold sarcasm was layered thick in his voice.
"Where am I? What do you want with me? " he groaned.
"I want revenge!" the harsh anger in his voice pierced through the confusion.
"I haven't done anything wrong! You don't know me!" Axel groaned
"But I do! You are Axel also known as Bloodbath, you are wanted in numerous countries for many crimes. Your home country is Moldova, as a young boy your parents were murdered by another rival assassin working for a seperate company, after killing him and all those responsible you tried to kill me!"
"No... No no no.... It can't be you..." Axel cried with disbelief
The man engulfed in shadow stepped forward into the light, an wide smile broke out over his scarred face, he looked Axel dead in the eyes "It is"
"Mis... Mister Smith" Axel whimpered in genuine fear.

[MWBailey]

As Arabella neared the hangars of Newport News, air traffic was becoming abnormally brisk, and the aetherphone set began to chatter with messages back and forth, all having to do , apparenjtly, with one ship that was out of place, or maybe off-course. That didnt fit the current level of increasing aerial anarchy, however. A Fast Dispatch blimp shot up out of the fog just barely off her starboard beam, its alcohol-and-oil fourbangers ginning away at a crazily high rev,and suddenly all manne rof small craft, from gigs as small or smaller than her airbike up to about scout-class, exploded out of teh fog all around her as flashes flickered far below in the foggy reek, and deep BBBOOOOOMs sounded all around as if the aerodrome were blowing itself up.

"DEMOLOGOS! ITS THE DEMOL--!" shouted the Newport Tower operator, then a staccatto series of heavy explosions sounded below and the frantic aetherphone transmission cut off, to be replaced again by the frantic hubbub of confusion. 'Bella's own voice joined the chorus, then, pleading, demanding to know what had occurred.

[The Corsair]

-Nigel-

After seven hours he was waiting on the return of two fighters, the Moth and Hornet.

The reports had been quite mixed. Some towns, those with little or no local defence, were gone. Completely gone. Of those that had local defence their were mixed findings. Some had half-intact forces after fighting off small attack fleets, some were sorry-looking groups of survivors wandering around aimlessly in the rubble finding ways to prove that it was a dream they'd wake up from, some had combined their forces with those of nearby towns, sacrificing one town's worth of buildings to allow the survival of its people and fleet.

Garrow's fleet upon arrival in South Carolina  had consisted of four Frigates, two Corvettes and the Implacable, not counting its two damaged gunships (which he now had to consider flight ready). By the time the seven hour mark arrived, his gunships had returned with all manner of new ships from small home defence garrisons, as none of the survivors had chosen to stay behind, they all wanted the security of a more experienced Commander and the (rather illusory) safety of New York. This had put his fleet at a more formidable sixteen Frigates, nine Corvettes, twelve Gunships and another, limping and almost non-airworthy, Dreadnought, the USAS Storm. He only had one hour left before he was turning about and flying home but it was an hour he knew would be filled with some of the dizziest anticipation of his life. A fight with Dexter wasn't that bad when put bluntly and blandly but the implications of it, whether or not Garrow was victorious, were simply tremendous.

At last the last two fighters sailed into view and drifted their way the last few metres into the hangars of the ships they had come from. The report sent over to the Implacable was startling, very startling indeed. Dexter's ships had been spotted going even further south, seemingly with the intent to engage the forces in the state of Georgia. Garrow at first thought it would be the beginning of Dexter's downfall. If he conquered Georgia he wouldn't have enough ships to defend his territory from more attacks. Then a disgustingly possible thought injected its barbs into his mind, making sure he couldn't ignore it and let it go. Maybe Dexter did have something, a weapon or a ship or what ever, that meant he could defend such an amount of land.