Excerpts.

Tail-gunners veered sideways through nimbus smoke, screeching off with forty-seven mufflers belching out black exhaust. Their iron-sights were rusted, worn, peering out with glazed vision piercing sun-kissed clouds as they ascended the heavens. Pilot and co-pilot veered sharply around airborne obstacles. The nimble craft weaved through the perimeters of cloud-cities fortified by barricades of durasteel-ivory. The assault was imminent, and the strategy was tuned to the art of surprise. Gearships and Air-cruisers danced like the high-pitched notes of an evasion and stealth symphony. They dotted the sky in tight formations against a backdrop of pink clouds. These ships had sailing masts the size of mountain peaks, and engines rigged with starsplitters. One slipped magnetron, and the entire Wavelength would collapse into crow-dust. Luckily, all pilots were equipped with miles of telephone chord, so that they could lasso enemy ships and catapult them like a slingshot.


Enter the War Room.
Mick entered. His Texan face was ruined like Orcish leather. It even creaked as he spoke.
'Yuh see these things?' he pointed sharply onto a holomap. 'Flankers. All of em'. Gotta cut them off at the source.'
At times he knew not an alien nor a rattle-snake apart.
'Peachy, that.' said Narlene, who was barely able to bridge a clear path of vision past the oversized brim of her Newark stitched hat. Particular hats such as this were known to cause a kerfuffle, especially with Texans around. 'And so you will simply walk into it?'
'Negatory,' he replied with automatic ease, 'it will be a process.' Nevada cigarette smoke snaked up his arms like sneaky tendrils as he spoke. 'Never sent a squadron to the Blockhouse. They'd kill me if I went did that. But I found a way to bust through.'


'You did no such thing,' replied Narlene, knowing full well his penchant for dosery, 'and not even your most acidic moonshine could secure with me such a slippery claim.'  Her features serene beneath the bonnet of purposeless haze circulating through the room.


The inferno was trapped, caged, and imprinted behind his gray eyes. Convincing was one thing. 'I found a way. Figure this map for a second. Got three, maybe four tries at the engine core. That will make the whole thing blow up.' Wildness flooded his veins.


Kilometers below, dew-laden fog cast aside the new light like an autumn sponge pierced by sheets of razor-thorn. Beside the Nightsplit and the Watchman's Tower, bleakness rumbled through the streets. Branches of rat-weed clattered with the particular vibrancy of un-death. They reeked of ozone, sealed and resealed to prevent contamination. It tore through the atmosphere in streaks of ripped violet, a shadowy consumption giving way to hot friction. The Bridgemark took flight.