Third Leg

Kaihi

The aircraft lift rises with a metallic clatter as Zyla and I wait on the flight deck, eager to see the finished Mazel. It’s early morning - the clouds are high and scattered, and a gentle breeze brushes my skin like blades of grass in a fresh field.

The first thing we see is the tip of a propeller blade - tall, proud. Then two more blades follow. Strange. A six-bladed propeller?

But no - my mind quickly corrects itself. It's not one six-blade; it’s two three-bladed props, one behind the other. Contra-rotation. My first time seeing one in person. Supposedly more efficient than conventional props, though they come with drawbacks - heavier gearbox, far louder noise.

Then the rest of the aircraft emerges. She’s silver. Not ideal for low-level operations, but maybe they didn’t have the time or materials to repaint her. The wings are mounted and the landing gear is supporting her full weight.

Her nose features two exhaust ports - one on each side, just beneath the cockpit. Painted in black letters across the polished skin of her nose is a single name:

Mazel.

Zyla gasps with excitement. I almost do, too.

This is a big moment. My first named aircraft. The first bird I can truly, wholeheartedly call mine.

She’s no small machine either. Smaller than the Sanan, sure, but bigger than my old fighter - and a real stunner. Elegant, powerful, eager to move.

As the tug hauls her out onto the deck, I jog alongside her, then run ahead and leap up onto the wing. I lean into the cockpit.

Two seats - one behind the other. Pilot in front. The controls are modern, though the space feels tighter than the roomy office aboard the Sanan. Not that I mind. I’m used to cramped cockpits.

I scan the instruments. Nothing unfamiliar, aside from the new buttons and switches I’d seen in the Sanan too.

I hop back down, grinning. Zyla beams back, still walking alongside the wing, cradling her box.

“Everything about her looks great,” I say. “I hope you’re right about her namesake.”

She smiles.

That’s when the Captain walks over.

He looks… somber. A strange expression for him.

When he reaches us, he speaks directly to me.

“Kaihi, we’ve been hearing some strange rumours. I don’t want to worry you, so I’m not going to tell you what they are. You need to stay focused on the mission. Got that?”

I nod.

But the moment he walks away, my mind begins to race. If he didn’t want me to worry, why tell me at all?

Now I can’t stop wondering.

Even the sailors seem off today. Usually they’re loud, joking, full of life. But this morning they’re quiet. Reserved. Like they’re expecting something.

I decide to ignore it.

“Clear!”

I prime the engine. It starts with a rising whine, and the big blades begin to spin - opposite directions, contra-rotating. I watch, mesmerized, as they accelerate into a blur. The slicing of air becomes a metallic whirr, underscored by the engine’s smooth, throaty wail.

It’s a lovely sound - docile, but full of bite.

The aircraft jolts as the tug pulls us forward to the catapult. The canopy slides shut above me and seals with a mechanical hiss. I disengage the primer. Even through the glass, I can still hear the faint whistle of the spinning props - and she’s only idling.

Off to the side, I spot a group of mechanics high-fiving one another. Celebrating. Beaming. I smile. I’ll do my best to keep her in one piece.

Because of the tailwheel configuration, we have to use a special adapter for the catapult. The sailors on deck move quickly, locking it in. While I wait, I flick on the intercom.

“Can you hear me?”

Zyla’s voice comes back instantly, upbeat and bright.

“Yes!”

Fiya crackles in right after.

“This thing’s amazing! She’s got everything we could ask for. I can’t wait to push her to the limit. I want to see what that engine can really do.”

I grin.
So do I.

I test the stick - light, responsive. Two triggers. One for each weapon mounted in the wings. I hope I won’t need either.

Final checks.
Battery: full.
Ammunition: full.
Systems: green across the board.

The sailors give the all-clear and scatter back. A green flag waves.

“Ready for the third leg?” I ask.

“Always.” comes Zyla’s anticipative reply.

I ease the throttle forward.

The whirr deepens into a rumble - a buzz like some great, angry insect waking from sleep.

The catapult fires.

We’re slammed forward, hurtling down the deck - and then, smooth as silk, we lift.

Airborne.

Mazel exceeds my expectations.

I had my doubts - but I take back everything I said about her. She’s everything the Sanan was, and more. Agile. Responsive. Ready for anything.

My only real complaint is the lack of camouflage. That silver sheen might look pretty, but it’s not exactly ideal for low-level flight over hostile terrain.

Fiya, on the other hand, is over the moon. Zyla doesn’t really have an opinion - she’s never flown before - but she does love the way the aircraft looks and feels. That’s good enough for me.

We race across the terrain, cruising at a casual 1100 km/h. Effortless. She could go much faster, but she’s far more efficient at this speed. If we keep this up, we’ll reach the Khadra by late afternoon.

Still, one thing weighs on my mind.

Our route takes us directly over a massive desert.

I wanted to go around, but that would’ve added five more hours to our flight time - too much. So instead, we’re cutting straight across the center. Maximum speed, minimum altitude.

The flat terrain will help - easier to fly, easier to maintain speed - but it also makes us sitting ducks.

If any missile locks on, it'll be up to me to stay alive.

Two hours later, we reach the desert.

I bring Mazel in low - really low - kicking up dust in her wake as we tear past at 1200 km/h. The pale yellow sand stretches out endlessly beneath us, staring back like an unblinking eye. Harsh. Empty.

Hostile.

A crash here - if the crash itself didn’t kill us - would mean a slow death from thirst.

As if on cue, Fiya speaks.

“Radar scanner detected. Oh-One-Nine.”

The ground is flat, empty. I don’t see anything.

Then Fiya clicks her fingers - a little sound effect she’s fond of.

“I’ve worked it out. It’s airborne.”

Airborne?

“They mounted a ground-launched missile radar on a plane?”

Fiya hums. “That’s my guess. I don't think they'd normally use them out here. But with how low we’re flying, it’s probably their best chance of getting a lock.”

Fair point.

I grit my teeth, scanning for danger - looking for the familiar telltale plume of smoke, and just as carefully for the absence of one.

Then I see them - three trails, erupting from the sand in the distance.

I don’t wait.

My hand slams the afterburner button.

The propellers retract instantly, folding into the central hub. Fiya doesn’t even have time to call out a warning before the pressure engine kicks in.

I’m thrown back into my seat as Mazel screams.

The speedometer ticks up - 1400 km/h. 1500. 1600. Still no alarms. Just raw, overwhelming speed.

The missiles spiral downward, left choking in our wake. They never stood a chance.

I ease back on the throttle, watching the acceleration settle. The afterburner’s still on, but - thankfully - controllable. I cap her speed at 1800. No need to go faster. Not this low to the ground.

The beige landscape rushes beneath us like a river.

Zyla squeals in delight.
She’s a real thrill-seeker.

I suppose I’d be one too, in her position - when the threat of death doesn’t mean anything anymore.

The afterburner cuts. We slow. The propellers deploy again - still spinning - and the ride smooths out.

Fiya sounds downright cheerful.

“Well, that was exhilarating. The engine handled it perfectly. We should push her all the way next time.”

I shake my head.
Always the investigator.

Something flickers at the edge of my vision.

I turn.

A new smoke trail rises from the desert - but it’s dark grey.

Not white. Not pink. Grey.

A new colour. A new variant.

Fiya doesn’t yell a warning. She doesn’t need to.

“You see that?” she asks.

I nod. “Yup. New variant. And I can’t use the afterburner for another hour. Let’s see what it can do.”

Zyla sounds incredulous.

“See what it does? You’re going to let it attack?”

I laugh.

“No. I’m just going to let Fiya collect data on it. Then I’ll run.”

“So you’re going to let it get within attack range.”

“More or less.”

She sighs.

“Do I get a say?”

Fiya answers for me.

“No.”

Another sigh from Zyla.

The missile spears in.

My hand tightens around the throttle.
I don’t say it aloud, but I’m not loving this plan. Letting Fiya get data by letting it get close?
Way too risky.

Even if it was my idea.

But she thinks I can dodge it when the time comes.

So I trust her.

I keep my eyes on the threat.

It climbs high - then dives.

Closer. Faster.

Pouring a trail of thundercloud-grey smoke behind it like an angry dragon.

Ten seconds to impact.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.

My grip clenches. My breath hitches.

No - calm.

Breathe.
In. Out.
In. Out.

Six seconds.
Five.
Four…

And then-

It disappears.

The smoke trail just - ends.

For half a second, there’s only silence.

Then - WHAM.

An almighty thump shakes the entire aircraft.

I jolt, instinctively pulling us higher. A geyser of sand erupts behind us, shooting skyward like a detonation.

“Fiya! What happened?”

Her voice wavers.

“I-It had an afterburner. It activated it - but the tracking method and angle were off. It missed by a meter. I-I’m sorry. That was too risky.”

I exhale hard, heart hammering against my ribs.

“That’s alright. Just - tell me what you learned.”

She clears her digital throat.

“It’s a faster variant of the base missile. This one’s equipped with an afterburner that briefly boosts it to Mach 2.5 - faster than we can go. But once it kicks in, it loses control. It can’t track anymore - just flies straight.”

“That explains the miss.”

Fiya continues.

“It also doesn’t carry an explosive warhead. It’s designed for kinetic impact - a heavy metal core in the nose cone.”

I go cold.

So the only reason we survived… was luck.

It missed.
Just barely.

If it had hit from dead ahead… or struck us from behind…

I shudder. Not a great way to go.

Decapitated by a tungsten spear traveling at two and a half times the speed of sound.

We stay low. The desert stretches behind us.

And finally - finally - the terrain shifts.

Rolling hills rise in the distance like an old promise kept.

I exhale slowly.

We’re through.

I twist back into the rhythm of flight, letting the tension fall away.

We made it through.