Psychological Warfare

At dawn, the biting north wind howled over the military camp, kicking up dust and dead leaves. But it could not blow away the lingering stench of last night's revelry and hangovers.

The smell was mingled with sweat and the aftertaste of cheap liquor, stubbornly swirling in the air.

The camp still buzzed with the feverish excitement brought on by yesterday's victory report. The soldiers' faces still bore the flush of triumph. Some gathered around campfires, singing loudly; others leaned against tent poles, grinning foolishly, as if that one victory could drive away every shadow.

"Florensburg ahead. Everyone turn due south, maximum speed."

At Hannah's clear, decisive voice over the radio, Angela drew a deep breath and yanked the control stick in front of her. The nose of her plane slowly turned, pointing toward the outlines of the three nations' allied camp.

She pushed the throttle to the limit. The engine's pounding grew faster and faster, like a racing heartbeat. The airframe shook violently, the vibrations traveling through the seat and control stick into Angela's body. She couldn't help thinking of the familiar tractor in the fields back home.

The Duchy of Weissen's first female tractor driver had refused the boyfriend her father had introduced her to, had quarreled fiercely with her family, and left home to join the air force.

The Implosion Engine's immense power, combined with the fierce push of the north wind at their backs, sent the entire formation hurtling forward at unprecedented speed. The wind sliced across the wings like a blade.

On many planes, the cloth patches bearing the words "Rhine Air Force" snapped wildly in the gale. Their threads tore loose, revealing the original words underneath: "Rhine Postal Service."

The dozen or so kilometers vanished beneath them amid the engines' roar. The allied camp