IDA

I was kinda going for cheesy writing.

This deep in the forest, the days are dark. Even a bright sun on a cloudless day would barely be able to sneak a scant few rays through the over-dense foliage vying against competing conifers in an agonizingly slow motion race towards the life sustaining light. Nothing grows on the forest floor, covered instead by matted rotting leaves, shed from their branches during that singular time of year when the forest sleeps and light can make its way to the floor, and by the myriad droppings of this silent kingdom’s citizenry, who take shelter under the forest’s majestic roof. Imagine then, how dark it is at night. How the moon’s rays, so outmatched by the dense cover cannot hold but the barest hope of reaching the forest floor. How the few rays that do find their way reflect off the eyes of the forest’s inhabitants as they watch, silently, vigilantly, the lone intruder into their sanctuary.

The intruder strides confidently through the maze of trees, not missing a step, yet seemingly unaware of his curious audience. Or unconcerned. His features, if indeed the intruder is a man, are indistinguishable, his body cloaked in the darkness of the forest, his eyes covered by a pair of high powered night vision goggles, and on his back he carries a large pack its contents unknown. He reaches his destination, a tree yes – what else is there to reach in this forest? – but this tree specifically is special. It’s bigger than the others. One could surmise that this tree is old. In a forest such as this one, all the trees are old, but this one was so much more. Perhaps this was the first, the father of the forest from whose scattered seeds the entire forest grew. It’s impossible to say. But this one is large, and tall. Tall enough that when he reaches the top – for the intruder has now started his ascent, stabbing the tree with climbing spikes has had stored in his pack – he will be able to see above the forest for miles in any direction.

At the top, the intruder secures himself to the tree, and opens his pack. He sets up his equipment, checking the sky often, as if searching for something. When he has completed his setup, he pulls out a radio and, selecting the appropriate channels, speaks.

“Mother Bear, this is Brother Bear. I’m in position. Over.”

A voice from the radio returned his message, “Copy Brother Bear, mission is go.”

Clicking off his radio, the intruder settles back and waits.

And waits.

Hours pass. The forest’s inhabitants disperse, interest lost when the intruder disappeared up the tree. The first rays of the sun start to peak their way over the horizon, lighting the forest roof in a dazzling green. And over the horizon from the west, a shape appears. It doesn’t take long for the intruder to notice the approaching object, and he quickly perks up.

As it approaches, the shape of the object appears to be an elongated sphere, tipped at the back by fins. The object appears to be constructed of a series of ribs, revolved around a central axis, covered by a film. A Zeppelin. But not just any Zeppelin – for as it approaches, the logo of the Royal Crown Trading Company becomes visible. And a name, The Regalia. The flagship dirigible of the largest, wealthiest shipping company in the world.

The intruder watches as the Zeppelin floats over his head, and allows it to continue a few seconds past before performing his mission. He lifts his equipment, aims through the attached scope, and fires. Seconds pass, and a flame bursts from the side of the airship’s balloon. The flames quickly consume the hydrogen, and The Regalia plummets towards the forest.

The intruder clicks on his radio once again,

“Mission Accomplished.”