Pilot Amonkar Arati kept her hands on the stick, her eyes on the horizon, and tried to keep her attention from drifting. In all her months of training at flight school, of all the dangers and pitfalls of piloting the students had been warned about, no one had ever bothered to mention the principle difficulty with most prolonged bombing operations. Namely, that they were endlessly, tediously boring.

One day was the same as another, day after day after day. Out of bed in the morning; bathe, dress, and eat; then, after briefing, they’d crawl into Fair Winds for Escort to go out on yet another bombing sortie. With their rotary winged fighter escort and the rest of the bomber squadron, they’d fly out over enemy-held territory, try like hell not to get shot by anti-aircraft from the ground or shots fired from enemy aircraft, and do their best to hit the assigned targets. Then they’d wheel around, perhaps making another bombing run on the return trip, and if fortune was with them they’d land back on friendly soil, taxi into the hangar, and then deplane to go rest up, debrief, and hopefully sleep, to do the whole thing again the next day.

Day in, day out, nothing but the same. For the first few weeks, so much of Amonkar’s attentions were focused on the task in hand that she hardly noticed the numbing sameness. And in those first weeks, too, she still felt the thrill and excitement about being up in the air, flying. But as time went on, and she and her crew became even more efficient at their roles, experience helping to smooth out those early jitters and fears, the excitement and thrill began to diminish, week after week after week. It reached a point where Amonkar could scarcely remember being scared, much less being excited, but could only recall being achingly, endlessly bored.

Of course, today it was anger that distracted her attention, which was entirely another concern.

When Operation Great Strength had been announced, it had seemed for a brief moment as if real progress might be made, and the boring tedium might at last be ending. But after the first few days of the advance, after the Mexic lines in the east had been broken through, the Middle Kingdom ground forces had driven only so far to the west, able to go no further. The intent had been that the ground forces would create a corridor straight through to Ruosi, when instead they had succeeded only in creating a finger-shaped salient that pointed a few dozen kilometers into Mexic territory before being halted by another mass of Mexica to the west.

Now, several days into Great Strength, the Mexica on the main line of resistance to the east, to the north and south of the Middle Kingdom salient, had regrouped and reorganized, and were now in the process of pushing back. With the hopes of a corridor to Ruosi now little more than a dim memory, the Middle Kingdom ground forces within the salient now found themselves struggling to avoid being overrun by Mexica pushing in from three sides.

The bomber squadrons had been ordered to try to soften the Mexic defenses that had halted the Middle Kingdom advance to the west. Most of their mission time involved flying over friendly territory, from the hangars in the east, coursing west above the Middle Kingdom salient, and then delivering their payloads onto the Mexica to the west. Unfortunately, the Mexic defenses there were not only more than able to stop the infantry advance, but were well-fortified and even better armed, with anti-aircraft emplacements supported by wing after wing of Mexic aircraft. It was all that the Middle Kingdom bombers could do to verge just over enemy-held territory without being shot out of the sky, dropping their bombs without time to properly sight the target, and then wheel around and head back over friendly soil as quickly as possible. To say that the bomber squadrons’ effectiveness was questionable, at best, was putting it mildly.

“Enemy spotted,” Co-Pilot Seathl said, so casually she almost sighed in saying it.

Amonkar leaned forward, glancing to starboard out the forward windscreen, just able to make out the specks of Eagle Knight aircraft fast approaching from the east. “Acknowledged.”

Seathl continued to watch as Amonkar settled back and checked the instruments. “Three of our escorts are haring off after them.” Over the plane’s communications hardline, the voice of Navigator Geng buzzed in their ears. “Is Pak’s Dragonfly one of them?” The co-pilot chuckled. “Why, are you worried you’ll lose his affections to some blood-hungry Mexic pilot. I didn’t take you for the jealous type, Geng.”

“I’m just worried about him,” Geng answered.

“Stow it,” Amonkar barked, startling the others. “We’ve got work to do.”

Her own reaction surprised her. It had been for a few weeks that Navigator Geng had been seeing someone romantically in what little leisure time was left to them at the end of the day. Pak was a Chosonese pilot of a Dragonfly rotary fighter attached to the bomber squadron’s escort wing.

For the last few weeks, Amonkar had hardly given Geng’s dalliance with the Dragonfly pilot a second thought. That had all changed that morning, when Geng had announced that she and Pak were to be wed, once the war was over.

In the hours since, Amonkar had simmered with anger. At first, she had chalked it up to a poor night’s sleep, then to her dissatisfaction with another day of tedium, but then she noticed that her discontent flared whenever Navigator Geng’s voice buzzed over the hardline.

It wasn’t until Geng voiced her concern about Pak’s safety in combat that Amonkar realized the source of her anger.

She discovered, in that moment, that she thought Geng was weak, giving into selfish desires. It was thoughtless, Amonkar felt, to get romantically involved with another when the risk of death was so great, and worse still when both parties were so often at risk. If Geng were to die in combat, her loss would affect Pak’s effectiveness in combat. And if Pak were to fall, Amonkar didn’t know whether she would be able to count on Geng to perform her duties when asked.

Perhaps most surprising though, was the realization that she had been suppressing her own desires. Without making the conscious decision to do so, Amonkar realized that she was forgoing any attachments until her duty had been fulfilled. When so many of the other airmen had paired off, whether for ongoing relationships like that shared by Geng and Pak, or for brief trysts like those favored by Seathl, Amonkar had remained solitary, isolated. She had not allowed herself even to consider the possibility of entanglements since she’d set foot on Fire Star, all those months before.

Still, now that she paused to reflect, she couldn’t help but be reminded of that tall, fair-haired Vinlander guardsman she had met back on the transport from Earth, with the friendly smile and the flashing eyes.

Amonkar shook her head, pushing those thoughts from her, forgetting the heated dreams that occasionally rousted her from sleep, embarrassed and ashamed at her body’s own reactions. There wasn’t time for romance now, she knew. They had a job to do.

She would have to talk to Geng about this, sooner or later. But for the moment, she would try to keep her attention on the flying, avoiding both anger and boredom, and try to get them all back to friendly soil alive.

---

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: Hexagram 40
Release
Below Water Above Thunder
Thunder and rain perform their roles. In the same way, the noble man forgives misdeeds and pardons wrongdoing.

NEXT CHAPTER: Hexagram 42
Increase
Below Thunder Above Wind
Wind and Thunder. In the same way, the noble man shifts to the good when he sees it and corrects his errors when he has them.

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Chapter 41 of Three Unbroken by Chris Roberson. Copyright © 2008 Monkeybrain, Inc. For more action from the Celestial Empire don't miss The Dragon's Nine Sons.

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