Chapter 1 – A CALL TO ACTION

 There is no better way of describing the lush Britannian countryside on the outskirts of London other than ‘peaceful’. Under the soft heat of the mid-day sun farmers tend to their sprawling, seemingly endless fields in which their crops wave in a gentle breeze and their animals graze calmly. A constant harmony of crickets and the buzzing of dragonflies creates a soothing background chorus among the rustling of full green leaves. Plumes of white smoke rise like cotton candy from somewhere distant, hidden behind dense trees. A shrieking whistle pierces the serenity as a steam train rumbles across this picturesque, postcard worthy landscape.

        Nestled along a narrow, hedge-lined country path sits a small, quaint cottage. Its roof bristles with thatch and its walls gleam brightly in the sun, light blazing off the white painted stones. From its tall chimney rises faint wisps of smoke which drift off into the vast cloudless sky. In the garden lies a tapestry of all kinds of flowers; lavender, roses and lilies are tended to by numerous large puffy bees going about their important business. It's within this dream-like wonder-state where the ever proper young Britannian witch Lynette Bishop sits, sipping tea at a small table below a waving red and white summer parasol. 

        With gentle movements she places her fine china back down on its saucer to continue reading from the large newspaper in her hands, which rustles loudly as she turns the page. Despite these fantastic surroundings all is not well in Lynette’s homeland. It has been almost two years since humanity defeated the alien Neuroi threat and Lynn is happy to finally be home after her adventures abroad. After her return she was met with crowds of cheering revellers and vast celebrations all across the nation. After many years of destruction and war, peace had come at last. 

At least it should have, as the bold news headline makes clear. 

        ‘London lost to the vagabond horde!’ is printed in striking letters across the paper, accompanied by grainy photographs of beggars and tramps roaming the streets of England’s capital. Such sights and the venomous article within brings a sorrowful frown to Lynn’s face. How could it be these poor people's fault that their situation has become so dire, she ponders? Surely such viciousness towards them is more than unwarranted? Quite frankly the young girl wishes she could do more to help. She’s already donated most of her earnings as a soldier to the Red Cross and other reconstruction charities, yet it seems the horrid situation most people find themselves in across Britannia is only becoming worse. 

        Poverty, homelessness, disease and even starvation had grown exponentially across Europe in the years following the Neuroi War. The fighting nations had spent almost without fear in the face of their enemy. Countless sums of money were poured into the machines of war, into building defences, and paying to train soldiers. Then; there were the reconstruction costs after their victory. The destruction in Galia and Karlsland were near total, with whole cities being reduced to smouldering mounds of rubble and ash. In order to pay for all of this the vast and prosperous nation of Liberion had thrown out copious financial support and loans. 

        At the time it was believed Europe could stabilise fast enough to repay their debts, however as it turns out such a hope was short sighted. The money dried up fast, maybe it wasn’t enough or maybe it was spent on the wrong things. Regardless, without the ability to return Liberion’s funds all future loans were cancelled and the nation of freedom and liberty across the sea closed itself off from the international stage until they could be paid. If there’s one thing a Liberion loves; its cash.

        Unfortunately with no funds left this dramatic financial crisis has gripped Europe in a stranglehold. Even Britannia, who saw little destruction in the war, has begun exporting unsustainable amounts of goods overseas to raise funds and fix its floundering economy. Jobs have crumbled, the housing market has exploded and programs such as the highly popular National Health Service proposal have been put on indefinite hold. The landscape may be heavenly, but life within is tough and challenging.   

       Lynn lets out a deep sigh at all this horrid news. She knows how to fight, and has some experience of financial management after her time helping her friend Perrine in Gallia, however this growing situation brings her an intense feeling of sadness and powerlessness at her inability to help further. Looking back at her old country home she spots her beloved mother through the shimmering window of the kitchen. Rationing is still in place so she is cooking something with what ingredients there are left in their small pantry. Whatever it is it smells good Lynn thinks to herself with a smile. Being a witch has at least offered Lynn and her family some monetary security, which is the only reason she can lounge around so carelessly right now. 

        Suddenly the peaceful beauty of Lynette’s blissful front garden is shattered. Somewhere nearby a dog is barking viciously with loud angry yaps, and getting closer every second. Just as Lynn folds her paper to take a look at the commotion something quite unexpected perplexes her, as from the other side of the tall hedge which surrounds the cottage, a young girl leaps over the top on a bicycle, crashing through the very upper layers of foliage and becoming snagged on branches and thorns. The cycle lands with a clatter onto the manicured grass, spilling several letters and bundles across the lawn as the still barking dog bounces and bounds outside. 

        Lynn is held in a state of shock for several moments as the mysterious girl falls from her ensnarement among a flurry of leaves and broken branches. 

        “Ouch ouch ouch!” she mutters quietly before panic sets in and she notices the spillage of mail she has thrown everywhere. She begins to pat herself down of dust and leaves from her drab air force uniform, adjusting her collar and hat. 

        “Are you ok?” Lynn asks softly, obviously holding back a light chuckle. The girl, suddenly noticing Lynn’s presence, goes bright red with embarrassment. She leaps to her feet with wide eyes and quivering lips before giving a powerful salute.

        “Oh my! Y-You’re Lynette Bishop! I’m so sorry maam, they didn’t tell me who I was delivering to, I…” she says with a stammer, standing at attention, with feet together in a statue-esque show of respect. Lynn simply continues to giggle at this humorous sight, covering her mouth with her hand as to not offend her strange visitor.     

        “You have something to deliver to me Private?” Lynn asks with a smile. 

        “Yes ma'am, I do! Ummm… My name’s Victoria…” the girl replies dutifully. Unfortunately the letter Victoria had been sent to deliver now lies scattered among the many others all across the flower filled garden. 

        “Let me help you find it then Victoria.” Lynn grins as she begins sifting through the carpet of white and brown envelopes.    

        It doesn’t take long before the two girls gather all the scattered postage and return it safely into Victoria’s bicycle basket. 

        “There, all tidy.” Lynn chirps. 

        “T-Thank you Officer Bishop! I apologise for the trouble! T-This is for you ma'am!” Victoria says as she thrusts a single letter out towards Lynette with pride. 

        “You don’t have to be so formal with me, it's ok. Please relax.” Lynn responds, taking the crumpled delivery softly. “Do you want me to make sure you’re alright?” she asks, pointing at the girl's scuffed knees. “You took quite a tumble there.” 

        “Uhhh… No thank you, I’ll be fine. I have a lot more post to deliver maam.” Victoria replies with a hint of sadness. She probably would like to stay and chat with this legendary war veteran, however she does have a job to do and she is quite behind on schedule already. 

        “Well thank you then Private Victoria. Good luck and… don’t go crashing through any more bushes now.” Lynn smiles happily. In response the young messenger gives Lynn a friendly nod and a thankful smile before she rolls her bicycle towards the small iron gate at the front of the garden. Opening it with a prolonged creak she glances quickly from left to right, checking for the dog which had chased her earlier. With the coast clear, the delivery girl makes her leave, the sound of her peddling away muffled softly behind all the greenery. 

        With the quiet peacefulness of nature restored Lynn looks puzzled at the letter which she holds in her hands. This has to be military related, she thinks. Why else would they send a Private to deliver it? Ripping the paper envelope open she slides the note out and begins to read. Soon a look of confusion overcomes her; she’s been summoned to RAF Bently to see Commander Gibson. How bizarre she remarks. 

        Returning the note neatly back into its paper sheath, she purses her lips momentarily in deep thought. Shaking it off she picks up her now cold tea, the saucer and newspaper and makes her way back inside. As she opens her front door however she can’t help but notice the distant sound of a dog barking, and yet again another faint, feminine scream, echoing from somewhere down the country road. Lynn lets out an amused sigh as she heads inside to inform her mother of the afternoon's strange, unexpected happenings.  

        A beautifully kept Supermarine Spitfire stands on display alongside three different models of striker unit outside the exquisite country manor which houses RAF Command at Bentley Priory. The clock up on its tall tower is nearing 3PM as Lynette is shown into the stuffy office of the base Commander. Light shines in through slitted blinds, illuminating the many bookcases and cabinets, all adorned with small model aeroplanes and countless binders and folders. On the walls hang photographs and paintings of previous RAF legends and pinned up medals shining like silver. 

        At the large wooden desk sits the man Lynnete has been summoned to see: Commander Gibson Whitehall, wearing his immaculate uniform and smoking his tobacco pipe below a prim and proper bushy moustache. Lynette immediately stands to attention, saluting her superior officer with rigid efficiency. 

        “Flying Officer Lynette Bishop reporting as ordered sir.” she relays loudly.

        “Oh come now, that wasn't an order, more of a request. You may stand at ease. Welcome Officer Bishop. I hope you had no trouble in getting here on such short notice.” Commander Gibson welcomes with a gentle smile as Lynn relaxes. 

        “No trouble at all sir!”

        “Wonderful. Please take a seat.” the Commander motions as he gets up to fully close the blinds across his window, dropping the room into a muggy darkness. Lynnete does as asked and places herself gently down on a chair before Gibson’s desk, the powerful aroma of his pipe wafting uncomfortably up her nose.

         “First of all I would again like to thank you for your service to the nation Miss Bishop. You and your fellows in the 501st are an absolute inspiration to us all. You have my personal gratitude.” Gibson says, sitting back down to face the young witch. 

         “Thank you very much sir.” Lynette replies confidently. 

         “Yes, I’ve read the reports on your actions; all very impressive. But let me get right to the issue at hand. You never officially retired from the air force, as such we have a special operation we believe you would be well suited for Miss Bishop.”

         “Are you asking me to return to service sir?”

         “I am. What I am about to tell you is of the utmost secrecy, you understand. The future of Britannia relies on this mission. 

         “I’m prepared sir.” Lynn remarks without hesitation. 

         “As I expected. You’ve come a long way from the recruit I read about in your files. Extraordinary. Now; tell me, what do you know about Ultima?” Gibson asks sternly as he sifts through several documents covering his desk. 

         “Not much sir… it’s a big continent covered in snow at the South Pole I think.” Lynn replies with mild confusion, moving a little in her chair with embarrassment at her ignorance. 

         “That's correct. It’s a place we still know little about. It was only discovered a little over one hundred years ago after all. That said; we have sent teams there in the past, and the last one returned with a very interesting hypothesis.” Gibson says as he rolls out a rather large yet vague and mostly blank map of Ultima, with only its shorelines and fringe interior showing any kind of detail. “The South Pole is not like the North, there is solid ground below the ice there. Our previous scouts believe, with complete certainty, that underneath that frozen wasteland sits one of the largest oil reserves in the world.” 

          As Gibson takes a large puff of his pike Lynn leans forward slightly to get a closer look at the map in front of her, as if doing so would reveal any new information. Her curiosity has certainly been spiked. 

          “That would be useful, but I assume we don’t know where the oil field is located sir?” Lynn asks as she traces the outline of Ultima with her finger gently. 

          “Indeed we don't. But you see the oil would not just be used at home. If Britannia were to secure that oil supply we could sell it around the globe. You’ve seen the current crisis, and with that amount of oil we could wipe out our debts to Liberion and more. However, there is no reason to believe other nations have not also discovered this treasure and begun sending expeditions to the south. We must get there first!” Gibson says sternly, placing his palm down with a heavy slam atop the pitifully empty map.  

           “That money could fix all of the problems facing Britannia, all of that trouble. But why me Commander? What makes me so qualified for the task?” Lynn asks politely. Before giving an answer, Gibson proceeds to pick up the receiver of the telephone on his desk and dial a number. After a few moments another gentleman, dressed in a fine pinstripe suit enters the darkened room, closing the door quickly behind him. 

          “Flying Officer Bishop, I'd like you to meet Mockingjay, one of my contacts within the SOE.” Gibson introduces the tall and lanky visitor who sets down a small box onto the desk.

          “It's a pleasure to meet you Mr Mockingjay.” Lynn smiles. 

          “The pleasure is all mine. Now if Commander Gibson would allow me I can explain to you exactly why we believe you are perfect for this mission.” Mockingjay replies, opening the box with a satisfying click. Inside sit five bullets, 0.55 calibre, the standard ammunition for Lynette's Anti Tank Rifle, she’s well familiar with them. Lynn glances up at the agent with a look of confusion. 

          “These may look like standard bullets Miss Bishop but I assure you they are not. The boffins at the Ministry put these little gadgets together, they are very advanced. Within the bullet sits something akin to a small sonar device. When fired below the ice sheets of Ultima the bullet will send out a pulse, which can be picked up by the equipment on a Royal Navy ship, effectively scanning the subterranean world below.” Mockingjay explains, showing off the projectile in his hands with prideful confidence. “The only issue is no normal gun can fire the bullet deep enough into the ice. That is where your magic comes into play. You can accelerate one of these to the necessary velocity, and find the oil field.” he continues, handing one of the brass bullets to Lynn who observes it closely.

          “Incredible.” the stunned witch whispers under her breath. 

          “Isn't it just. I tell you the Ministry comes up with all kinds of doodads and knick-knacks but this one is probably my very favourite. Much better than that rediculous fountain-pen gun, what a stupid idea!” Mockingjay bemoans. 

          “All right, all right that’s enough thank you.” Gibson interrupts getting the conversation back on track. “As you can see Officer we would very much appreciate it if you were to accept this mission. The choice is up to you, however.” he remarks. Lynn sits back in her chair for a moment, thinking deeply about what she would have to do. Travelling all the way to the very bottom of the world, to one of the harshest climates imaginable would certainly be a challenge. But a challenge has never stopped her before, she’s long outgrown that part of her past. Right now Lynette has the opportunity to help mend the terrible issues gripping her country. If she can secure this bounty so much suffering and hardship will come to and end. She doesn't need to make a decision. 

         “I accept, Commander Gibson.” Lynn nods with a smile, her mind already made up. 

         “Fantastic. There will be more details to go over, but for now welcome aboard Operation: Highjump.”