Read Online Vikings battle Zeppelins while forbidden desires spark! (Swords Versus Tanks Book 2) by M Harold Page - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: M Harold Page
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"So how will you achieve this equality?"
She kissed him on the lips. "By magic, of course."
"Then I had better get back to Westerland and find myself an airship."
Her eyes hooded. "Indeed." She grinned. "Do you suppose there is any mead left?"
"There is always mead in Ragnar’s hall." Ranulph put his arm around her waist, drawing her hip against his. "And I think we both deserve a drink."
CHAPTER EIGHT
The airship is the ultimate appliance of science to pacification. Its surgical force quickly brings Proto-Elitist primitives into the Egality, at no risk to our brave personnel. Indeed, going forward, the synergies with Integration are quite remarkable.
— Editorial, "The Leveller" (Post Office Internal Publication, 1932)
#
Jasmine leaned over the railing as the doors swung open, letting the cold northern night into the airship's bomb bay. The wind howled through the exposed wires. Below lay King Ragnar’s stronghold, its cement rendering glowing sandy-white in the moonlight.
In the corner of her eye, Jasmine noted the priest recoiling against the firesilk walls and drawing in his white cassock.
“Prepare yourself, cleric,” she said.
He gave her no acknowledgement. Instead he clasped his hands and closed his eyes. His lips moved in silent prayer.
Jasmine shuddered. He reminded her too much of Georgina's husband.
The icy air infiltrated her clothing, puckering her skin. Shivering, she zipped up her flying jacket until the fur-lined collar felt like a neck-brace and cursed the pointless secrecy order.
Field Marshal Williams preferred the rest of the army not to know that he was getting into bed with the Church, so here she was suffering the cold when it would have been much easier to let the Bomb Technician do his job. Everybody onboard knew what was going on anyway — it was not as if you could fail to notice five priests keeping vigil at the altar they’d built in the middle of the Main Deck.
Jasmine shrugged and let her mind return her to a warmer night and another moonlit castle.
On the glorious summer day in ‘26 when the Army of the Egality stormed into shell-shocked Kinghaven, Jasmine had marched up to the door of her original "Princess". Before the War, Georgina's husband had once called her a deviant and threatened her with a trip to Sandhaven Rehabilitation Centre. Now, he chose not to recognise the muscular, course-voiced soldier woman come to take his wife "for questioning".
And so, hand-in-hand, they'd giggled their way down to the war-emptied beach where Jasmine constructed a fortress of sand for her Princess, then claimed a kiss in payment for her toils.
The moonlight forgave Georgina's worry-lines. It was easy to ignore the last ten years. Almost. This time, Jasmine knew what they both wanted, and was armed with a thousand mouth-watering tricks for getting it. Soon her Princess's protestations gave way to louder, happier sounds. It seemed to Jasmine that she was home at last.
But, all too easily, Georgina slipped out of the afterglow, back into clothes and respectability. Watching her lover dress, it occurred to Jasmine that from their first chance meeting, the older woman had been more predator than princess, and her apparent innocence, a snare.
Hours later, Marcel found her still naked, curled up asleep within the ramparts of her sandcastle.
The Bomb Aimer crackled over the intercom, " Any moment now. Are the eggs ready? " Jasmine considered the munitions: Mark 19 Single-Use Vertically Applied Demolition Devices. The airship was drifting with the wind, so there was not even the sound of the engines to warn the raucous warriors while they enjoyed the remainder of the feast that she had shared with them.
Jasmine rubbed her eyes. This wasn't going to be a fair fight. Normally she preferred battles that way. She'd left Maud and Ranulph in the gatehouse. They'd be safe as long as they didn't go back to the hall...
" Well? "
Jasmine raised the mike. "Nearly." She tugged at the
She kissed him on the lips. "By magic, of course."
"Then I had better get back to Westerland and find myself an airship."
Her eyes hooded. "Indeed." She grinned. "Do you suppose there is any mead left?"
"There is always mead in Ragnar’s hall." Ranulph put his arm around her waist, drawing her hip against his. "And I think we both deserve a drink."
CHAPTER EIGHT
The airship is the ultimate appliance of science to pacification. Its surgical force quickly brings Proto-Elitist primitives into the Egality, at no risk to our brave personnel. Indeed, going forward, the synergies with Integration are quite remarkable.
— Editorial, "The Leveller" (Post Office Internal Publication, 1932)
#
Jasmine leaned over the railing as the doors swung open, letting the cold northern night into the airship's bomb bay. The wind howled through the exposed wires. Below lay King Ragnar’s stronghold, its cement rendering glowing sandy-white in the moonlight.
In the corner of her eye, Jasmine noted the priest recoiling against the firesilk walls and drawing in his white cassock.
“Prepare yourself, cleric,” she said.
He gave her no acknowledgement. Instead he clasped his hands and closed his eyes. His lips moved in silent prayer.
Jasmine shuddered. He reminded her too much of Georgina's husband.
The icy air infiltrated her clothing, puckering her skin. Shivering, she zipped up her flying jacket until the fur-lined collar felt like a neck-brace and cursed the pointless secrecy order.
Field Marshal Williams preferred the rest of the army not to know that he was getting into bed with the Church, so here she was suffering the cold when it would have been much easier to let the Bomb Technician do his job. Everybody onboard knew what was going on anyway — it was not as if you could fail to notice five priests keeping vigil at the altar they’d built in the middle of the Main Deck.
Jasmine shrugged and let her mind return her to a warmer night and another moonlit castle.
On the glorious summer day in ‘26 when the Army of the Egality stormed into shell-shocked Kinghaven, Jasmine had marched up to the door of her original "Princess". Before the War, Georgina's husband had once called her a deviant and threatened her with a trip to Sandhaven Rehabilitation Centre. Now, he chose not to recognise the muscular, course-voiced soldier woman come to take his wife "for questioning".
And so, hand-in-hand, they'd giggled their way down to the war-emptied beach where Jasmine constructed a fortress of sand for her Princess, then claimed a kiss in payment for her toils.
The moonlight forgave Georgina's worry-lines. It was easy to ignore the last ten years. Almost. This time, Jasmine knew what they both wanted, and was armed with a thousand mouth-watering tricks for getting it. Soon her Princess's protestations gave way to louder, happier sounds. It seemed to Jasmine that she was home at last.
But, all too easily, Georgina slipped out of the afterglow, back into clothes and respectability. Watching her lover dress, it occurred to Jasmine that from their first chance meeting, the older woman had been more predator than princess, and her apparent innocence, a snare.
Hours later, Marcel found her still naked, curled up asleep within the ramparts of her sandcastle.
The Bomb Aimer crackled over the intercom, " Any moment now. Are the eggs ready? " Jasmine considered the munitions: Mark 19 Single-Use Vertically Applied Demolition Devices. The airship was drifting with the wind, so there was not even the sound of the engines to warn the raucous warriors while they enjoyed the remainder of the feast that she had shared with them.
Jasmine rubbed her eyes. This wasn't going to be a fair fight. Normally she preferred battles that way. She'd left Maud and Ranulph in the gatehouse. They'd be safe as long as they didn't go back to the hall...
" Well? "
Jasmine raised the mike. "Nearly." She tugged at the
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