Chapter 85: The Eldritch Gamble

In JB Frostwood Hangar 6, Bell readied himself to confront the unknown alongside Lisa. Nestled within the hangar awaited a Gulfstream G950 business jet, devoid of armaments, but Bell harbored no intention of combatting whatever abomination or group awaited him. His sole desire was to swiftly uncover the truth and return to the coalition's southern warfront, where his primary aim remained: thwarting their adversaries at their source.

Clad not in combat gear but in a simple white shirt, fabric pants, and oxfords, Bell epitomized casual elegance, while Lisa sported a formal suit and high heels. Thus, two diplomats embarked on a diplomatic mission aboard a business jet—hardly an intimidating sight. Though the enemy could strike them from the skies, Bell believed they knew better than to attempt it.

Amidst the usual hangar staff stood Lukas and Hanna. "If we're not back in 48 hours, initiate the plan," Bell reminded Lukas.

"Got it, the grand Federation evacuation plan," Lukas affirmed, understanding the gravity of the situation should Bell fail to return. This would thrust Hanna into full control of the Federation—a risky gambit, but time was not on their side. "Wishing you a safe return, Bell."

Hanna chimed in, "Stay safe, Bell. This plan may seem crazy, but I'm not plagued by the nightmares haunting you two."

"It's for the greater good," Bell concurred. After shaking Hanna's hand, he made his way into the cockpit of the business jet, the door sealing shut behind him. With a low hum, the twin-engine jet glided out of the hangar and began its leisurely taxi toward the runway.

As Bell taxied his aircraft, he punched the coordinates into the onboard computer, though uncertainty gnawed at him. Would he meet his demise? Or would he stumble upon something so macabre, so beyond comprehension, that he'd wish to tear his eyes away? Only one way to find out. With a deep breath, he awaited at the end of the runway.

The cockpit screen displayed the destination, but its significance eluded him. The sky retained its orange hue, the sun poised to rise fully in twenty minutes, coinciding with his departure. He opted for an open frequency to facilitate communication with the other party. Despite the jet's arsenal of chaff, flares, and active defense systems, Bell found little solace in their presence.

As he poised his left hand on the throttle stick, Lisa emerged from the rear of the jet and settled into the co-pilot seat. Though not a pilot herself, she preferred the company up front to the solitude in the back. Fastening her seatbelt, she watched as Bell radioed the air traffic controller for takeoff clearance.

"So, what's your prediction?" Lisa inquired.

"I'm not sure. We might meet our end before reaching our destination, or we could witness something beyond comprehension. What about you?" Bell responded.

"Likely something straight out of a sci-fi novel, in a good way, or bad," Lisa mused.

"Let's hope so." Bell replied, a hint of anticipation in his voice.

He nudged the throttle stick forward, and the engines roared to life, propelling the jet forward. At 100 knots, Bell gradually eased back on the throttle, guiding the aircraft into a smooth ascent. With a graceful lift, the jet soared into the morning sky, banking left toward the northern mountain range. Climbing to an altitude of 15,000 meters, Bell engaged the auto-pilot, awaiting their approach to the mountains.

Their destination lay 300 kilometers ahead, nestled within the vast expanse of the mountain range. It served as an impenetrable natural barrier, or so it was thought, until the southern coalition defied expectations by ascending the mountains rather than navigating the valley below. Bell anticipated the bone-chilling cold awaiting them amidst the peaks.

Silently, Lisa retreated to the rear cabin, only to return moments later with two glasses and a chilled bottle of champagne. Instinctively, Bell accepted a glass as Lisa poured, the bubbling liquid offering a welcome distraction.

"You know, if this is to be our last drink, it might as well be a good one," Lisa remarked, pouring herself a glass.

"What's this?" Bell inquired.

"Krug, Clos d'Ambonnay 2002," Lisa answered.

"That's a mouthful," Bell quipped, his indifference to fine alcohol evident. To him, drunk was drunk—a mindset ingrained during his tenure as a junior officer in the Empire.

Bell savored the luxurious taste of the champagne, the decadence of the moment contrasting starkly with the gravity of their mission. Mimicking the accents he'd encountered in the European Concordat, he repeated, "Krug, Clos d'Ambonnay 2002," attempting to infuse a touch of French sophistication. "Sounds fancy. If we're going to meet our demise, might as well do it with a touch of class."

Lisa chuckled in agreement. "Exactly. If we're facing the unknown, might as well face it with a bit of elegance."

As the jet hummed smoothly onward, Bell cast a glance at the instruments, ensuring all was in order for their unconventional diplomatic endeavor. "You know, if we make it back from this, I might consider a career change. Perhaps into wine tasting," he quipped, swirling the champagne in his glass.

Playing along, Lisa smiled. "I thought you preferred simpler pleasures. When did you develop a taste for top-shelf champagne?"

"Since I realized that confronting eldritch beings and potential world-ending scenarios tends to make one appreciate the finer things in life," Bell replied with a grin.

"Haha, true, but you're still a general, right?" Lisa retorted.

"I prefer the title of 'diplomat with big guns,'" Bell jested as he took another sip.

"Imagine returning and regaling everyone with tales of our diplomatic mission armed only with a bottle of Krug and our wits," Lisa mused, raising her glass to her lips.

Bell chuckled. "That would make for an interesting debrief. 'So, how did you negotiate with the eldritch being?' 'Well, we offered it some champagne and exchanged pleasantries.'" He paused before adding with a smirk, "But in all seriousness, if this goes well, I'm considering a change."

"What kind of change?" Lisa inquired.

"You'll see," Bell replied cryptically, a smile playing on his lips.

As the jet sliced through the thin air, anticipation swirled within the cabin, tangible in the expressions of Bell and Lisa. They observed the landscape below morph into rugged, snow-capped peaks, the northern mountain range stretching out before them. Bathed in the golden light of the fully risen sun, the mountains revealed their stark beauty, a testament to a region once deemed impenetrable.

Adjusting the aircraft's heading, Bell guided them along the coordinates derived from the enigmatic numbers. The auto-pilot held their altitude steady, charting a course toward their enigmatic destination. As they approached the specified location, Lisa leaned closer to the cockpit window, her eyes scanning the terrain for any indication of what lay ahead. Yet, to Bell's surprise, there was no sign of electromagnetic interference or any disturbance at all.

"Do you think we'll actually find anything down there?" Lisa inquired, her voice laced with curiosity.

"We've barely entered the 'red zone,' so I doubt we'll see anything just yet," Bell replied, his tone measured.

Suddenly, two fighter jets streaked into view, flying in tandem alongside their aircraft. An F-22 and an F-35A, both adorned with the Federation's insignia and color scheme, loomed unnervingly close.

"To unidentified aircraft, please state your intentions, flight numbers, and the number of passengers aboard," a voice crackled over the radio.

"We're here by invitation, flight number LBF-1203, with two passengers," Bell responded, keeping his tone calm.

"Welcome to the Republic of Zoravia, sir. Follow us, we'll escort you to our airport," came the reassuring reply from one of the pilots.