Metal Birds

Chapter 63: From Above

The French Coast, June 5 1944

The chill that rushed over him was overwhelming. He could almost feel it against his eyelashes, even with the flight goggles he had in place. Every so often he could spot one of them pulling up the collars of their coats. They were dark figures behind him, gliding along as long as they could before moving their wings frantically to keep a constant altitude. Bodies parallel to the sea below, cresting and surging beneath the moonlight that encased them. 

The sea was grey, and the land before them was blue, marked silver and white with what managed to escape through the clouds. The city of Caen was to be their approximate destination. It took him a few minutes before he began to lead the group up, allowing the first of the planes behind them to pass ahead. They moved in above the scattered clouds, maintaining some sort of formation as they did so. He knew Francis, Aarav and Matthew were on his left; while his brothers were on his right. 

Gazing down at the tops of the planes, it was easy to notice how they looked like giant metal birds reflecting the moonlight from above. The carried the precious cargo of pilots and paratroopers. It looked like something  from a fairy-tale, a dream of sorts, looking down to see white winged eagles ready to pounce and attack, glistening, roaring quietly among themselves. The Nations, however, remained quiet. Nothing sounded but the wind among their feathers and uniforms, whistling idly. 

He watched, seeing where the French coast so far down below had been pulled up into a wall, bombarded with concrete defenses and steep man-made ravines. An echo of what it once was. 

They all kept a high altitude, planes alike. 

It wasn't long before the defenses of the German super power came below them, tremendously small at the distance it was now. He could sense the silence down there, the uncomfortable lives that were led by the French people, a hunched over and head low life. 

He could sense Francis' simultaneous disdain and excitement. These were his lands, these were his people, these were his cities, his towns, his forests, his beaches, and he had finally returned to take them back. To restore them to their glory.  

Fifteen minutes of silence passed, and the only thing he did was readjust his goggles, and turn his wings more parallel to the ground, indicating they needed to fall back. 

From below, the group likely looked like geese, or perhaps even kites, drifting listlessly in formation among the clouds and the planes, great feathers outstretched to grasp the chilly air. 

The first planes roared ahead, still going, still going, and the first men jumped, parachutes erupting to catch them. Arthur withdrew his rifle. He could sense a few of those around him doing the same, but the rest waited. Not yet. He switched off the safety. 

Searchlights grazed the sky, breaking the darkness with harsh light, scraping the underbellies of those great metal birds as men now took the opportunity to leave the false safety of the planes. 

They dove down among the paratroopers as the first shots fired straight upward. The metal groaned, and those unfortunate enough to still be trapped inside cried out, making their bids for safety one foot after another until there was nothing beneath them at all. 

"All weapons out boys, we're going down!" Arthur found himself shouting. 

Instinct was kicking in. The hyperactivity that had ebbed and flowed since the moment he declared war was finally coming of true use. An energy rose up in his gut, and he found himself coming to focus on everything down below. 

They had been noticed. And the first plane fell sharply. 

Arthur went straight down, bringing the rifle to his chest, his wings to his back. The downward fall pressed the helmet to his head. He continued down, before his wings came straight out, and he felt an instant strain on his spine, but the adrenaline beginning to fill him was enough for him to ignore it. 

He came down on the roof of a house, watching as the paratroopers above continued to drift down almost helplessly. He glanced about, seeing where the anti-air defenses were around the town, out in the fields, along the trees. 

He threw his arm up, signaling for the rest to gather nearby, before pointing sharply down at the nearest defense. He eventually threw himself into the air again, coming down hard in the small, low set trench that served as an entrance to the defense. Before he knew it, he spotted Seamus marching in on the side, gun lowered to the three men in the trench. And he fired. 

So Arthur turned, beginning to move along the defenses, gliding along, helmet low, firing where he could while the others were a head, keeping a sharp eye out for any of them limping, for any of them faltering in their flight. On more than one occasion, he would spend seconds hiding behind a house or tree, needing to peer out to fire back, his heart thumping faster and faster at each responding bullet that raced far too close. 

He bolted among the houses, doing his best to remain unseen as the first men landed. The paratroopers that made it immediately ran for the trees or a rally point, that being the city itself. 

By the time the sun was beginning to rise, Arthur found himself huddled next to Francis, listening to the fire of one of the anti-aircraft machines pointed up, the fading presence of the spotlight overhead. He peered over the top and ducked down as he was shot it, spotting Francis wincing as he reloaded his gun. The man moved a moment later, slowly raising his weapon. Arthur peered up to watch him. 

There was an air of seriousness about Francis that he hadn't often seen, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, at attention. There was a long silence, a series of loud pops following this, and Francis finally fired, the gun jolting into his shoulder. Arthur found himself looking up over the edge as well. 

"Don't worry, I got it." Francis said quietly, moving to sit again for a moment. Gunshots could be heard in the distance. 

Arthur merely nodded, hefting up his own rifle and swinging it over his shoulder. The two trudged into the city, were a small office had been set up in one of the larger buildings, and the other Nations sat about to wait for them. As they approached, it was Dylan who sat up, shifting his wings to let himself fall from the railing of the deck he had been perched upon, a good seven feet to the ground. 

"About time you showed up." He hummed. "The invasion on the beaches's begun by now. So, we're trying to gather some extra grenades. Seamus said you and him were going to do that in Egypt. Alastair too."

"I already radioed in where we are." Matthew hummed. 

"Yeah, yeah... right, when are we going?" 

"Whenever you are all ready. We can gather supplies from the ships there." Aarav stated. 

There were a few nods of agreement. 

Arthur felt tired. Tired, but still ready to fight. He quickly glanced skyward. 

It was going to be a busy week. 

Hello my dear, dear readers! Wonderful news, two more contests under the belt! Isn't that amazing? One second place, and one first place! I'm so excited!

I also must apologize, I've been so on and off lately and you guys absolutely deserve a constant update. I'll do my best to keep that up! Tune in next time!