Paxson Airbase, Alaska
       Command would never admit it; we were all going insane. Glasses clinked as my fellow pilots lifted them and joked with boisterous yells: "To the sizzle brigade, may we all burn in hell instead of in our planes!" Beer splashed off the rims onto the floor. They laughed.
       "C'mon Katya, where's your spirit?" Mac asked me. "Who knows, next mission you might become one."
       "Mac, you do realize you'd be going down in flames with me?" I asked.
       He frowned, his slicked black hair reflected under the fluorescent lights.
       I pushed a chunk of rabbit steak into the potatoes on my plate and watched the bloody juices swirl with butter. Brooding didn't help, but there was only so much stress someone could take. I wished I could experience something other than war. We never knew who fired the first missile, but little by little, humanity unraveled all its technological gains until we lived like our great-great-grandmothers. It's all I've known, I can't remember anything before it. How much longer can I do this?
       The beeping of the wall comm rippled through the festive air. The call. A hush fell over the room. Everyone's attention turned to me. I pushed my chair back and approached the wall.
       "Major Pavlichenko reporting," I said.
       The video screen lit up, and the leathery face of Commander Hassan appeared.
       "Bombers over Gakona, scramble fighters for intercept. This might be their final push before the peace talks. Be ready for anything. Take Mac, Hawker, and Gonzalez. You're lead. Remaining pilots on standby, we don't know where else they're going to hit." He disconnected the video before I could say anything.
       I turned to the room. "You heard. Bombers inbound; they're hitting the civvies again."
       Mac struggled to lift his glass with two hands to his lips. "We're going now?"
       Hawker responded. "Don't be a chatting idiot, of course now," he said, throwing his leather jacket over his shoulders.
       I let out a pent-up breath. I took the sunflower pendant Dad gave me years ago, just before he was killed, between my fingers and rubbed it for good luck. A superstition, I know, but I always did it. I rushed to the hangar.
       There she was, Vedma, my silver-painted biplane. It'd been my grandfather's before mine. I knew her every mood, temperament, and nuance. If a pilot didn't care about the ins and outs of their machine, they would never sync with it. She'd gotten me through so many close calls, even survived a crash landing when my wheels were shot out.
       "Guns've been refitted; cleaned them like you asked, Major," Chief Mechanic Biko said. "She's damned near perfect."
       I nodded, stepping into the cockpit. Mac staggered into the rear gunner seat.
       "You alright to fly?" I asked.
       "A' okay," Mac said. His hands shook as he pulled his gloves on. His once bright eyes were now always bloodshot and addled with fatigue. I can't remember when they changed, but it'd been several months since we'd gotten decent sleep.
       The engine sputtered to life, spewing black clouds of diesel. Antique technology to fight a war that started out with lasers and jets, I wouldn't have guessed in a million years.
       I taxied out of the hangar, seeing flashes of green and yellow light jumping on the skyline.
       Mac tapped my shoulder. "Beautiful aurora borealis, shame we've gotta fight in it."
       Hawker waved as his plane taxied in formation. I couldn't help but smile in death's face. I advanced the throttle forward with a gentle touch. We began rolling; I lowered my goggles and threw my scarf over my shoulder. The little rituals. The wheels hit a familiar dip on the right side, and I gave it full throttle.
       My stomach dropped as we became airborne. "We're on our way, Mac. Stay alert; we don't know if they have escorts hunting," I said through my mic. What I'd give to have GPS again one day, I thought while I studied my little paper hand map. All navigation satellites were knocked out in the beginning of the war by a nuclear EMP. No GPS, no missiles, no guidance. I folded the map and placed it in my jacket pocket.
       On we flew toward the oscillating lights, ready to open Pandora's box. Below us was the landscape I knew like the back of my hand. The miles of rail tracks were peppered with craters and hadn't been used in years. Now, we were past the ancient ruins of Anchorage. None of us volunteered for this war; we were born into it. Every day was a struggle for existence.
       "Maj-- something odd on the horizon, to the west." Mac swiveled in his open turret.
       I squinted. I could've mistaken the little blip for a grease smudge on my goggles. "Good eye, Mac." The bitter cold air nipped my cheeks and numbed my face. My soul was already numb, perhaps permanently, but taking another human's life was never easy for me. I was thankful for that.
       I pressed the comm. "Hawker, anomaly west. Unknown if it's an enemy aircraft."
       "Affirmative, Pavlichenko. Will cover your tail. Keep an eye on the sun," Hawker said.
       I turned the stick to the left, heading in the direction of the aircraft. Unusual. It hovered like a steel zeppelin airship but was shaped like a wedge.
       I flipped the channel on my comm. "Pavlichenko to Commander Hassan."
       No response.
       "Pavlichenko hailing Hassan." I waited sixty seconds before flipping the channel back. "Hawker, we're on our own out here. Long-range comm jammers."
       "Right--" he stopped speaking as his plane jerked to the left. Tracer rounds whizzed through his top wing. He dove.
       I slammed my fist on the side of the fuselage. A mixture of anger and getting circulation back in my fingers. Our plane shook with Mac's twin .50 cals unloading into the sky. My mind went into another zone, relying on instinct. I pulled back the stick, and we climbed. In my peripheral, a black and gold biplane with twin engines appeared.
       I maneuvered Vedma upside-down to give Mac the cleanest shot before I attempted to get the enemy aircraft in my sights. G-forces pushed me toward blackout. The scythe insignia painted on their fuselage meant this was no novice. We crisscrossed, and I recognized the skull painted on his helmet. Our eyes locked. His pupils were black chasms in desolate lakes of ice. Von Seong, better known as the Witch Hunter.
       The engine roared as I brought it up to full speed. Von Seong and I weaved a spider's web, neither of us making a mistake. We completed opposite loops and faced each other head-on. I waited until he was within a few hundred yards and fired my machine guns. He did the same. The sky lit with tracers as we played a deadly game of chicken. Rounds ripped through the strut closet to me, and I angled right to keep Vedma steady.
       "Where's Hawker?" Mac asked in desperation.
       My temples thudded, heart rate increasing. Bitter air flooded my lungs. Pieces of Von Seong's plane spewed off as he turned. I pointed our fighter straight up, getting pressed back into my seat, and almost stalled the engine. I flipped over to the right and swung back around. Von Seong anticipated my move and turned hard. We circled each other for an eternity, encapsulated in seconds.
       I attempted the move again but went too steep, and we hit an air pocket of temperature fluctuation. The engine coughed and cut out, seized in the cold Alaskan air. A fatal mistake.
       My throat tightened, and I gnashed my teeth. Our plane fell. I grabbed the handle of the air pressure pump and pulled and pressed. "C'mon Vedma, gimme some of your magic," I said. The gauge bumped back to normal.
       I reached outside the cockpit and flicked the outer switches with my trembling hand. I pointed our nose down and turned the fuel tank switch to off and back on. We picked up speed, and I closed the throttle with my left hand.
       Bullet holes punched into the plane by my right shoulder as I reached up and punched the fuel primer. Von Seong wouldn't let up, even on a stricken plane. The wind spun our propeller. My sixth sense took over, and Vedma became an extension of my body. I needed to massage her heart until it came back to life on its own.
       Mac returned fire until his gun jammed. He punched the ammunition drum.
       Hawker flew by, spraying bullets into Von Seong, then he slowed and drifted. Our engine sputtered to life, and I threw us into a spin, giving the throttle full power and turning the primer off.
       Our foe didn't let off the barrage of bullets, and Mac screamed. Something wet splattered on my neck, but I didn't have time to investigate. I kept us spinning, hoping Von Seong wouldn't realize I was feigning.
       Tracer rounds stopped flying past us. Von Seong peeled off our tail and gained altitude, no doubt hunting Hawker. I ran my gloves over my neck. No wound. When I pulled them back, they had crimson streaks of blood on them.
       I looked over my shoulder. Mac had taken a round in the right arm. I straightened us out and kept us hidden from the enemy's vision as we headed in the same direction. The engine choked, and I switched the fuel selection to the rear tank. We were running out; I didn't know if we had enough fuel to get back.
       I reached behind me and tapped Mac's helmet. "Hold tight," I said. "I'll get you home soon."
       He grabbed and squeezed my hand.
       The sky darkened as if a thunderstorm brewed. Snakelike whirls of green and pink light streaked across the sky. There were three of those wedge-shaped crafts now! They blew past us in formation. I hadn't seen anything that fast before, not even when the world still had jet aircraft. I had an uneasy feeling-- as if these ships had been observing us all along. It was the same feeling you get when you're all alone and you swear someone is looking over your shoulder.
       With his uninjured arm, Mac struggled to open one of his guns and fix the jam.
       "I doubt that'll do anything, Mac. Just sit tight," I said.
       Above us, Von Seong decimated Hawker's plane, and pieces of his wing spiraled down to Earth. The strange airships closed around them, and a snakelike whirl of light engulfed them. They dissolved in mid-air. What the hell?
       An airship broke off from the group of them and flew in front of us. Green light emanated from it and swallowed our biplane. A surge of electric energy went up my spine. The world surrounding us disappeared. Except for a green ball of light reminiscent of the moon, we flew in a void.
       "What happened?" Mac's voice echoed as if it were miles away. His question then panned between my left and right ears while growing louder. I covered my ears.
       The wood on the instrument panel rippled as if it were slow-moving water. The cockpit closed in and then breathed out. Our engine stopped, but we didn't fall. Sensation abandoned me. Sight, sound, touch, taste. It's as if I no longer existed except for thinking.
       My senses returned. Our plane hovered, just like those strange ships. I unclipped my belt and stepped onto the wing by the engine. A fetid odor of marshy swamps and rotting trees made my nose twitch as my skin soaked in perspiration. "Mac, did we die?"
       He stood up in his seat and glanced into the vast emptiness before tying his scarf around his arm. "I didn't think the afterlife would be so humid." He gave a nervous titter.
       "It's like we're in some type of cosmic stewpot," I said, taking my leather cap and scarf off. I squinted, adjusting to the ambient light. There were no signs of Hawker... or Von Seong. "Maybe we've finally snapped." I rubbed my sunflower pendant.
       "I've never heard of two people simultaneously experiencing the same hallucination," Mac said.
       "You're right." I noticed droplets of blood falling from Mac's arm. "Let me tighten that for you," I said, wrapping my scarf over his.
       "I used to think you were a cold person," Mac said. "Distant from the rest of us-- but you really do care." He smiled through the pain.
       "Keeping distance... it's how I cope. I don't think we'll live to see this war end, whether we're killed in combat or make it to old age," I said. "It'll go on forever."
       "Do you think Hawker made it?"
       "If anyone could, it'd be him. I just don't know. None of this makes sense."
       The darkness dissipated as the green glow of the ball magnified. An unpleasant vulnerability came over me as if something lurked in the shadows. My respiration increased.
       "Look there, Katya-- something reflecting," Mac said.
       In the void around us, a cylindrical hatch became visible. "There's a reason you're always my observer, Mac," I said and then smiled at him.
       He seemed surprised by the compliment. "Only prob is, we don't know how to get to it."
       I nodded. I lowered my feet over the side of the wing, and they touched the ground like stepping on glass. I moved a couple of paces at a time, dragging my leather boots along. My right foot lost contact with anything solid. I shifted all my weight onto my left leg to avoid falling over.
       "Floor has holes in it? I can't see 'em," Mac said.
       "Reach into the cockpit and grab a handful of bullet casings," I said.
       Mac retrieved some metallic casings.
       "Toss them on the ground."
        The five casings scattered through the air. One landed to my side, another few surrounded the plane, and the final one disappeared into the void right in front of me.
       I sighed. "Of course..."
       I backtracked to the wing and fuselage and emptied the remaining rounds from the machine gun into my leather helmet. Mac stepped out from his seat into the pilot's seat.
       "We'll reverse Hansel and Gretel this," I said, tossing a bullet in front of the plane. It landed and made a light ping sound. Mac made it to the floor. He shook but maintained his balance.
       "Steady Mac. You're doing alright," I said. I threw bullet casings and took a step after each one, making our way to the hatch.
       A humming noise, like a rotary engine running at speed, came from behind us. I glanced back and couldn't see anything but Vedma in the green light. The hum grew louder, and it became difficult to think. The hatch was only a couple hundred feet away. The ground began to incline as if we were going up a steep hill.
       Vedma moved. Her nose arched downward before flipping back up. The wheels rolled backward. Mac and I crawled. I threw another casing, but it didn't land; it just floated behind us.
       The incline changed direction, and Vedma headed straight for us with tremendous speed. "Prone," I shouted, making myself as flat as possible.
       Mac gripped my arm. I winced at the impending collision as the plane weaved around and picked up momentum.
       When she got within twenty feet of us, she dropped. A sickening crunch of wood. The cross-bracing wires snapped as the left wing hit something solid before folding over. The whole incident lasted less than a minute, but Vedma was no more. She was only a machine, but I knew she'd sacrificed herself to avoid hurting us.
       I reached into my helmet and threw the last three of my casings up toward the hatch. Two landed in front of us, and the third disappeared. The landscape continued to tilt.
       "We'll have to jump," I said. I stuffed my leather helmet on and struggled as my knees threatened to give out.
       "Now, Mac," I patted him on the back, and he jumped, gripping the hatch with his uninjured arm. He opened the hatch.
       I jumped as the ground became too inclined to stand. I botched the landing and fell toward oblivion. My arms reached out. At that moment, Mac grabbed me. I didn't want to find out what lay below, in the void of the unknown.
       "Thanks, Mac, I can't thank you enough," I said.
       He brushed it off. "We can't stay here," Mac said.
       I investigated the world the hatch opened into. We were not that high in the air, peering down at a landscape. A blue lake with a sandy beachfront? I held my breath and jumped, a silent prayer running through my mind, hoping this wasn't an illusion. The cold water shocked my system, and I shivered. My leather flying coat, which had kept me warm on so many missions, was now drowning me. I unfastened the buttons by my chest and unbuckled the waist belt. The coat drifted into darkness.
       I swam over to Mac, who struggled from the weight of his soaked jacket. Reddish-brown blood diluted in the water as I pulled his jacket off. The bullet hadn't just been a graze, and he needed some serious medical attention. I pulled him onto my back and swam for shore.
       An unfamiliar sound came from the beach. Children laughing? Kids splashed about, playing with toys and floaters. I wanted to scream for them to get out of the water, but I didn't have the energy. Lakes had been poisoned during the war, and it meant we were going to succumb to respiratory failure soon.
       We got to shore and lay there in the rippling water until a little girl came over to us.
       "Whatcha doing? Grownups don't roll around in the sand."
       I shielded my eyes against the bright sun. "Where are we?"
       "Did you stay in the heat too long?" the girl asked. "Mum always says go in the shade, or you'll get delirium. Want to play?"
       "Jamie, stay away from them," a woman's voice called in the distance. The little girl froze for a second and then left.
       "Katya-- my arm," Mac said. He held it up.
       "Where's the blood?" I gently pressed around his arm. The wound was gone.
       "Now I'm convinced we're dead," Mac said.
       "Might be," I said. I stood and was no longer sore. A warmth from within emanated. "Have we crossed into the land of the dead?"
       A chirping flock of birds flew overhead as an ice cream truck pulled up on the beach. SUMMER BLOWOUT, ALL YOU CAN EAT SCOOPS FOR $1.
       Dairy was a distant memory; the closest thing we had at base was artificial concentrate.
       "Miss, you look like you could use one of these," the big mustached man in the truck said.
       "'Fraid I haven't got any money," I said.
       "This one's on me," he said, handing me a brown cone. "Would your friend like one too?"
       Mac's face brightened. Jamie came back over and tugged on his sleeve. "Have chocolate. It's yum."
       The unadulterated joy of having a treat with a group of youngsters and their parents was surreal. There was no worry amongst the parents, no threat of bombs falling. What life had I been missing all these years?
       Oh my god! Chocolate-- a swirl of sweet bitterness melted in my mouth. I almost cried.
        Mac and I walked along a sidewalk flanked by trees that had the most beautiful colored leaves. A gentle breeze rustled my hair. "With how much killing we've done, we don't deserve to be in a place like this."
       "We don't belong," he said.
       A yellow convertible pulled up alongside us. "John Mackenzie, where have you been? You missed our lunch date," a woman called out.
       Mac turned, mouth gaping. "Marion?" He staggered over to the car and leaned in.
       She kissed him on the cheek and asked, "Who's that you're with?"
       "Oh, this is Katya, my boss," he said, scratching the back of his head.
       "Is he free to come with me, boss?" Marion asked.
       I pulled Mac back. "You know her?"
       Mac couldn't stop grinning. "She's my fiancé, killed at the front four years ago."
       "Then she shouldn't be here. I'm beginning to think this is a sick game."
       "Please, can I go with her? I've missed her so much."
       "Meet me back at the beach at dusk. Keep your wits about you."
       "Thank you," Mac hugged me, showing affection I wasn't aware he could express. He jumped in the car, and they sped off.
       I continued trying to solve the mystery of this place. Everything was familiar in a strange way. The houses had crisp paint and grass-covered lawns. Cars motored along, kicking up latent dust from the road. Food stands offered hamburgers... but cows were extinct.
       A brown bungalow caught my attention. I crossed the street, the hot pavement thudding under my leather boots. A man carrying a bag of mail walked by and waved at me. The mailbox nameplate read 'Pavlichenko.' My heart pounded. Could Mom and Dad be in there?
       Dandelions sprouted on both sides of the entrance. Mama's sunflower garden lay in the left yard. Creaks came from the porch steps. The front door had a Petrykivka painted circle with the letter 'P' embossed in the center. I recognized that from my room at the barracks, one of the few belongings I kept after mom died.
       I needed a minute to process what I saw. I stroked my sunflower pendant. The door swung open, and there my mom stood, open arms with a glint in her eye. "Katya, where've you been? We were worried."
       I couldn't answer for a second. "Nowhere, Mama; it's good to be home," my voice shook. I hugged her, the soft flower perfume filling my nostrils, just like I remembered. My throat tightened, and tears formed. You can't hug hallucinations, can you?
       "Tato!" I cried out when Dad came around the corner.
       The little crinkle appeared on his forehead as he smiled. His face wasn't scarred by his crash landing, his soul still intact. "Mama and I were having a quick bite of varenyky before heading to the airfield. Our planes are itching to fly, and I know I promised you could take Vedma for a test flight. God, Gido loved that plane," he said.
       I couldn't wait to see Vedma again.
       "Why don't you change out of those work clothes into something nice," Mama said.
       I'd never been in this house before, but it was home. On the mantlepiece, there were no photos of our stoic family in military uniforms. Instead, everyone wore traditional dresses and suits, and they smiled.
       The aroma of potatoes and fried onions from Mama's cooking hung in the air as I wandered to my bedroom.
       My room was filled with trinkets from hobbies I'd always wished I could have. Cameras lined my bureau, and an electric guitar sat in the corner. I strummed the guitar and was shocked that I already knew how to play some chords. I turned to the mirror-- there were no lines from stress or hints of invisible wounds from war. I braided my hair, a luxury to spend a minute on myself.
       There were three knocks at the door. "Katya, we're ready to head to the airfield," Dad said.
       I wished this moment would last forever. "Okay Tato, coming out soon." I stripped out of my worn fatigues and slipped into a fitted blue dress and knee-high red boots. I felt like a woman for the first time in my life. Life without war. I blinked back tears of joy.
       The drive to the airfield was filled with laughter, singing, and reminiscing. I remembered back to just before this mission, when the pilots were joking around. That laughter was a reaction to the insanity we faced. Mom and Dad's laughter was different. There was an innate genuineness to it.
       We pulled through the gates at the airfield and parked the car. Three large beige hangars were spread amongst a few acres of mowed grass. I helped Tato pull the door to the small hangar open, and there they were... his plane and my plane.
       Vedma had no insignias, no machine guns, no scars. She was bright silver.
       "Now Katya, I know how hard you practiced on the trainer. I think it's about time you took Vedma up," Mama said. Tato nodded in agreement.
       A lump formed in my throat, and I had difficulty swallowing. I ran my hand along the fuselage. Reunited. I clambered into the pilot's seat. Tato and Mama rolled the plane out to the field and stood back.
       I primed the engine, and she started up with a warm buzz. It was a far cry from the coughing and choking of my worn-out warbird. I throttled forward, and she flew like a dream. The sun beat upon my back. I didn't recognize the landscape; we weren't in Alaska. Below, a locomotive chugged along; someone hosted a party in their backyard with balloons.
       Every fiber of my soul told me not to land, but the fuel gauge inched toward zero. The wheels bounced off the ground. Tato waited for me.
       "You were a pro up there. Were you practicing without me knowing?" Tato asked.
       "Something like that," I said.
       The sun drifted down in the sky, and I remembered I had to meet up with Mac. I hoped his day had been as wonderfully bizarre as mine. "Can we go, Tato? I have to meet up with someone."
       "Of course, Katya. Will you be joining us for dinner?"
       "Maybe," I said as we got back into our car and sped through town.
       When we arrived home, I took in the beautiful yard one last time and hugged my parents.
       On the way back to the beach, my numbness from years of war began cracking apart. I had hope... hope that there was a life outside of all the destruction I lived through. Anemoia; I was homesick for a home I'd never known. Although Mama and Tato were dead in real life, I could carry their memory with me.
       Mac paced by the water, his head in his hands. My boots crunched on the sand as I joined him. "I don't want to go back. I want to stay here," Mac said, rubbing his eyes, hiding that he'd been crying.
       I touched his shoulder and then hugged him. "This place is perfect; let's stay. Hell, who's going to miss us? Crews go missing all the time," I said.
       We exchanged smirks.
       The sun disappeared into the lake as twilight purple painted the sky.
       "Mac, I'm headed back home to my parents," I said.
       Without warning, everything faded to black.
       "Katya, where'd you go?" Mac asked.
       "I'm still here, what's going on?"
       Blinding light flashed. Kids splashed in the water, giggling. The scene was identical to when we fell in the lake. Little Jamie came up and tugged on Mac's sleeve. The same flock of birds flew overhead as the ice cream truck pulled up.
       Mac and I ran away from the beach, hoping it was a coincidence. Marion pulled up in her yellow convertible.
       "John Mackenzie, where have you been? You missed our lunch date," Marion said.
       Mac's face was painted with anguish. He couldn't be with her again. She was just a sick mimic. And that meant I couldn't be with Mama and Tato unless I wanted to relive the same day and conversations ad infinitum. I lost them all over again.
       "Head home, Marion, I'll see you there," Mac said, then sniffed.
       The convertible sped off, with Mac's dreams as a passenger.
       "I knew this couldn't be real, as much as we wanted it to be. Whoever is running this experiment might not want us around much longer," I said, snapping back into Major Pavlichenko and leaving the woman I'd learned I could be behind.
       "We've got to leave, Katya," Mac said. "Any ideas?"
       "Vedma's here. I flew her and didn't feel any restrictions when I was in the air. At least it'd give us a better look at the place. Let's head to the airfield."
       We walked. Clouds drifted by, letting the sun peek through. I couldn't enjoy the beauty. Neither of us spoke. It was better to be alone with our thoughts and our grief for a life we couldn't live.
       We arrived at the gates of the airfield and pulled my plane out of the hangar.
       "Never seen her without guns," Mac said, admiring the shiny silver paint. "Funny how a machine can be used for both enjoyment and killing."
       "Weird how things work like that," I said. I donned the leather flying helmet that was in the cockpit and primed the engine. "There has to be a way out of here."
       Mac took his seat as the motor roared to life. The plane undulated on the grass, picking up speed before going airborne. I maneuvered the stick with ease and headed toward the lake.
       "Katya, look," Mac said.
       "Where?" I searched the sky.
       "No, below, the people-- they're skeletal."
       I leaned over the side of the cockpit. The children playing on the beach, the mothers watching over them, and even the people driving by in cars, were all metallic skeletons in motion. Revolted, I turned my attention to the hatch we fell out of. It was about four feet in diameter, much too small to fit Vedma.
       "If the people are illusions, maybe other things are. Try for the sun," Mac said.
       A fighter pilot was always cognizant of the sun; it was a good place to hide and a great place to attack from. I pulled the stick back, and we gained altitude. The sun didn't blind me as we neared. The intensity dulled until the outline of a docking bay became clear.
       "Dead on," I said. "This must be how they get in to work on their toys. Mac, do you think they started the war?"
       He didn't reply.
       The ground below us fluttered, the landscape disappearing into concrete. I didn't know if the gods of this world were destroying it. I increased Vedma's speed. We had one chance to execute this. The bay was no more than twelve feet in height. If we came in too high or too low, we'd be killed.
       Turbulence shook us as we approached. I squeezed the stick, fighting it until my hands were sore. White clouds sprouted near the entrance, and I could only see inside the cockpit. We'd been on the correct trajectory, but I couldn't visually confirm. The altimeter was steady on the instrument panel.
       I held my breath, perhaps my last.
       For several seconds, the clock on my instrument panel stopped ticking. My neck pulled forward, followed by my shoulders. The clouds cleared; we were in the middle of a spiraling white vortex. Vedma shuddered. I feared she'd be pulled apart.
       The stick ripped from my hand, and I was no longer in control of the plane as we drifted, swirling in a tornado of violent vibrations. My vision faded, and I welcomed death.
       The vibrations ceased. Pink mist and green ions materialized. Aurora Borealis! The controls came back to me. My blue dress was gone, and the leather jacket and fatigues were in its place.
       "Christ!" Mac yelled. "My goddamned arm." Blood dripped from Mac's wound.
       "I'll get us home." Our real home. Had that all been a nightmare?
       Something glistened in the distance, up high, answering my question. The wedge-shaped craft. It drifted through the clouds out of sight, leaving me with more questions. Who are they, and what do they want?
       We flew low over trenches that were littered with the grotesque, rotting bodies of thousands of soldiers. Nobody fired shots at us. There was an eerie silence.
       Vedma wheezed and croaked. I'd forgotten we were already on reserve fuel when we'd last been flying over the battlefield. I spotted the broken rail tracks and followed them back to base.
       "Vedma returning," I tried the comm. No response. All planes were in their hangars, no obligatory fighter on standby. Our fuel ran out as I taxied up the runway, which was deserted.
       "C'mon, Mac, we've gotta get out in case another plane's coming in."
       He groaned in response.
       "I'll get a big stein of your favorite brew," I said.
       He feigned a smile. "You've got the soul of an idealist. How've you endured the agony of this place for so long?"
       Before I could answer, he passed out. His jacket sleeve was soaked in blood. The lights in the mess hall were on, so I dragged him there. My arms burned, and my back ached, but I was determined to get Mac help. Singing emanated from the hall, then laughter.
       Holding Mac up, I bashed the door open with my left arm. I stepped in. The room was filled with pilots, mechanics, observers, even Commander Hassan. My mechanic, Biko, saw me. His face went pale as if we were ghosts.
       "Major?" he asked.
       A hush fell over the room. "Are you all going to stand there, or is someone going to help me? Mac's hurt bad," I said.
       Biko and a few men fumbled toward me, inebriated. They took Mac from my arms and carried him out of the hall. Commander Hassan approached me.
       "Where've you been for the past couple of days? We thought we lost you," he said softly.
       "The honest answer-- I have no clue."
       "Well, we're damned glad you made it back, Katya. The war is over!" Hassan raised his glass and let out a shout. "We were right; the enemy was making their big push. Our lines were breaking when beams of light came down, and the enemy brigades vanished. We don't know who helped, but we owe them everything."
       My stomach churned. Deep down, I knew those ships weren't our allies...
       "If you made it back, then maybe Hawker will," a pilot said, putting his arm around me.
       I was in a daze and wanted to be anywhere but at a party. I wandered to the medical building.
       Mac was propped up in bed, his arm wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. A nurse stopped me before I reached his bed. "He's in a bad way-- might lose his arm."
       I nodded and brushed past her. "Mac, the war's over, if you can believe it."
       He glowered at his arm. "The war is going to be staying with me for a long time," he said. "Do we tell people what happened to us?" he asked, despair in his voice.
       "We got a taste of life without war, even if it wasn't real. Hold onto those feelings. We don't know if those ships will return, whatever they were-- playing God."
       "What am I going to do?" Mac asked.
       "Well, we don't haveta stop flying. Maybe we can convert Vedma into a crop duster. The world has a lot of rebuilding to do. We're going to need to regrow food in the non-radiated areas."
       "That sounds good. I'd like to stay with you, Katya," Mac said, his voice drifting off.
       A sense of calm came over me. "I'd like to stay with you too, John," I said.
       He had already fallen asleep. I caressed his hair and then looked out the window at Vedma sitting on the runway. I played with my sunflower pendant and thought of Mom and Dad, wishing they'd lived to see this day.