Quartermaster Scroll #4

Quartermaster
Scent: Leather - Cedar - Suede
Role: Close Air Support – Spirit of the Forgotten Warbird

They called her Quartermaster because she never let ground troops go without.
Low flying. Cannon roaring. She answered every call with fire and fury.
“Troops in contact.”
She was already inbound.

Then came the night of Operation Cold Mercy—a mission so deep even the brass denied authorizing it.
Lt. Mara Vex, fearless, unshakable, took the stick.
She lifted off just before midnight. Her last words:

“He’s in the cockpit with me.”
Then static.
Then laughter.
Then silence.

Vex never returned.
But the plane did.

Blood pooled in the cockpit.
The fuselage was riddled with holes—but still flying.
No pilot.
Only her dog tag, fused to the seat.
And a new name etched into the hull from the inside:
QUARTERMASTER

They tried grounding her.
Stripping her.
Dismantling her.

But the mechanics burned when they touched her frame.
Technicians went mad hearing things through the comms—
cries for air support from battles long since over.
One man swore he saw her gun spin up on its own.
The base chaplain ordered chains, runes, holy oil.

Now she’s entombed in an abandoned hangar.
Locked under arcane sigils, surrounded by guards who won’t meet her eyes.
But at night, the engines still whir.
And in the dark, her cannon ticks like a watch… waiting.

Sometimes she disappears.
Whole towns report a sound like rolling thunder, then scorched earth and silence.
Troops pinned in black ops theaters whisper about a shape in the clouds—
a shark-mouthed angel of death, protecting the forgotten.

They say she isn’t a plane anymore.
She’s a vessel.
For vengeance.
For devotion.
For the last war that never ended.