Wings of Fire Ch. 14 - Teaser (Patreon)

The hangar bay of the Vengeance was silent at that hour, the kind of silence that hummed faintly beneath the skin. The floodlights had been dimmed for the night, leaving the massive expanse bathed in shadow and the soft amber glow of a few maintenance lamps. Steel birds loomed in neat rows, their wings ghostly under the low light, the scent of oil and ozone thick in the air.

A door hissed quietly at the far end, opening just wide enough for a single figure to slip through. Gerda paused on the threshold, listening. Nothing but the steady hum of the ship’s generators. She exhaled through her nose, adjusting the strap of the small leather satchel slung across her chest, and stepped inside. Her boots made no sound on the metal deck, as she’d taken the precaution of wrapping the soles in cloth.

Her pale eyes darted across the hangar, calculating, wary. She moved with the precision of someone who had rehearsed this in her head a hundred times. Her hand found the pocket of her flight jacket, fingers brushing the smooth face of the bronze coin Tex had given her. The small thing seemed to throb with weight in her palm, as though heavy with expectation.

She reached the Focke-Wulf. The plane’s dark, curved hull caught the dim light like polished obsidian. Gerda ran her hand across the fuselage, her touch tender and almost reverent. She smiled knowingly, taking a single instant for sentiment to creep through.

“Du schönes Tier,” (You beautiful animal) she whispered, her German accent soft and affectionate. “You still keep secrets, don’t you?”

She crouched near the wing root, where the paint had been touched up recently. Her fingers traced along the seams, the way one might read Braille, until she felt it, the subtle indentation no broader than a coin. Her lips curved into a broader smile as she reached into her jacket pocket.

“There you are.”

Pulling out the bronze coin, she slid it into the slot. There was a faint click, followed by the soft whir of mechanical tumblers. A narrow panel shifted outward, revealing the small, almost invisible compartment. Gerda’s smile widened as she saw the documents that lay nestled inside.

“So predictable,” she murmured in German. “Diese Narren… sie glauben, sie wären klug.” (These fools… they think they’re clever.)

The compartment’s interior was lined with faded leather and smelled faintly of dust and machine oil. Inside lay a thin bundle of documents bound with string, and a small wooden box. She reached in with gloved fingers, removing them one by one, careful not to disturb the mechanism. Beneath the papers rested three small notebooks, their covers plain but marked with German script she recognized instantly.

“So… you did keep records, didn’t you, mein kleiner Märtyrer,” (my little martyr) she said quietly, her eyes gleaming. She scanned a few pages quickly, her expression shifting from satisfaction to near-glee.

“Perfect,” she whispered. “They’ll finally see who outsmarted them.”

Gerta slipped the documents into her satchel, tying it securely. Then, with meticulous care, she reset the panel—coin, click, slide, and it was once again flush with the metal skin of the aircraft. She stood back, inspecting her work with the pride of a surgeon.

“Dummköpfe,” (Fools) she said under her breath. “Not clever enough to find it, or clever enough to stop us.”

Her voice barely carried above the faint hum of the hangar’s ventilation. For a heartbeat, she allowed herself to smile, the cold satisfaction of mission accomplished flickering in her eyes. She turned on her heel, every movement crisp, measured, and almost elegant. Unseen behind the shadowed bulk of a parked trainer plane, two silhouettes watched her go.

Ernie Jr. and Nadine, eyes wide and breath held, felt the gravity of what they’d just witnessed sinking in. The hangar swallowed sound and light alike once Gerda’s figure disappeared through the side door, the whisper of her steps fading into nothing. The moment the door sealed shut, Nadine finally let out the breath she’d been holding.

“Ancestors above,” she whispered, her pulse still drumming in her ears. “Was that… was she one of us?”

Ernie Jr. stayed crouched in the shadows a moment longer, peering in the direction she’d gone. His jaw was tight, the glow from the maintenance lamp catching the hard lines of his face.

“She was,” he said quietly. “Or at least she used to be.”