Chapter five: The Calm before the Storm
Based on the mystics' recent behavior and the possibility of war with them, the chancellor had consulted the king and, with his permission, ordered the Guardian Police to a war footing. Cloth uniforms were exchanged for suits of mail with Guardia's royal crest, and heavy warships were dusted off to be brought into service. Most were already in service; but the vanguard of the Navy, its behemoth battleships and dreadnoughts, would practically need overhauls to be battleworthy again. Years of little maintenance or use had taken their toll. Thus, the Guardian Navy commander had a problem: not enough available ships.
Aeron's little aircraft, the Procyon, was armed with only two Light Bolt Cannons and had still managed to devastate a Medinan destroyer before getting shot down. Of course, the LBCs were unlike anything the Royal Guardian Navy (RGN) could bring to bear; they fired bolts of elemental magic, mixed fire and ice and lightning. The Aquilae was known to have two deck-mounted LBC's, and the Akula was known to have many times more than that. There was no way a desperate man and woman with that much destructive force at their fingertips were going to surrender to a group of coastal patrol boats.
Of the two active battleship squadrons, one was on exercise off the southern continent's coast and the other was in overhaul, repair, and overdue crew rest. The cruiser squadrons were doing what they always did: patrolling the open seas, mostly between Medina and Guardia's vulnerable western shore. There was, in fact, only one viable option.
It was only a destroyer squadron, but it was a next-generation squadron, using many technologies pioneered by no others than Aeron and Lucca. These ships had replaced the powder-fired, smoothbore muzzle-loaders of old with rifled breech-loaders using shells produced at one of the new factories. The new weapons had greater range, accuracy, hitting power, and rate of fire. And the coal-fired steam piston engines had been replaced by far more powerful and efficient oil-fired steam turbines. Not to mention the new armor plating, hydraulic turrets, or wing-like stabilizers below the waterline. If any group of ships could intimidate and - if necessary - take down the Akula and Aquilae, it would be Destroyer Squadron 34.
By now they could no longer discern the ghostly shape of the Aquilae. Freya and Crimson both realized that it was highly unlikely that their absence would even be noticed before morning, and that by then they would be too far away to spot the little boat. In fact, thanks to contrary currents they would be nearly one hundred miles away; but the exact number was beside the point.
"What are we going to do now?" Freya wondered aloud.
A voice from the darkness answered her. "Beg your pardon?"
"This is your world, your ocean. I know precious little of it, so you're my guide. The only thing I must insist upon is that our end destination be Melchior's hut, simply because that's where everyone else is going. I leave how we get there to you." Crimson's eyebrows rose slightly; a gesture that went unseen in the night. Her ready faith in him was a refreshing change from the near constant lack of trust he'd been given by virtually everyone else he'd met. Crimson found himself rather liking this woman, this fell dragoon with a heart. And he found himself looking forward to journeying with her and fighting by her side. Then, Crimson realized something of more immediate import: he was taking an inordinate amount of time to reply.
"For the moment, I think that we should go to sleep. When we wake tomorrow, we shall want to go west by any means necessary; by sail if the wind favors, by oar if it does not. The reason, of course, is to get and stay as close to the shore as possible; it is cyclone season, and this is hardly a choice vessel in which to be caught by a storm. I already have some idea of what to do after that, but I think that it would be best discussed and decided upon after a good night's sleep."
"That sounds reasonable to me," his new comrade replied. Crimson heard a faint rustling of cloth as Freya tried to get comfortable. Crimson followed suit, and was soon asleep. Freya, however, remained awake for a while, lost in thought. One of the thoughts occupying her mind was just how much time she would be spending with Crimson. Until they reached Melchior's hut (a journey which, Freya guessed, would take at least a month), they would be alone together. He would then accompany her, Zidane, and everyone else on the hunt for Kuja, and she had no idea how long that might take. Afterwards, when she returned to Burmecia with him, she was sure there would be no shortage of work for the two of them to do. Being one of the last surviving dragoons, she would draw from amongst the most difficult tasks. And she would be accompanied by Crimson on all of them. Though I have known him less than a day, I will be spending much of the next several years of my life with, near, or around this neglected knight.
Not that she was sure that was necessarily an entirely bad thing. Because of something beyond his control, the world had mistreated, distrusted, hated and rejected Crimson. Yet he still ached to serve it, and to protect it from harm. That drive, that instinct for duty was at the core of what made a good knight an exceptional one. Perhaps my trust is better-placed than I had feared. She curled herself into a nice, warm ball to sleep, her last thought before she drifted off being: I wonder how a giant demon with a scimitar will fit in with lanky nezumi soldiers?
The Slash was one of the Medinan (or Mystic) Navy's finest warships, built using technology bought from a mysterious, otherworldly man who seemed to have no end of surprises. He'd given them the same advances (though they didn't know it) as Guardia's DS.34, with the exception of the fact that the Slash was a thoroughly overpowered ship with less armor and armament than its size would suggest. Like all MN ships, it had an overly large crew, including flying scouts.
But Slash had something that set it apart from most other warships, even those of DS.34: it had not one radio, but many, and those were small enough to be carried by the flying scouts. That way, they could report enemy sightings immediately and even direct fire from the ship's cannon. And the flying Mystics - mostly birds - had excellent vision, even at night. It was they that had kept tabs on the Aquilae and Akula, allowing the Slash to remain out of sight until the moment was right. With a nasty cyclone approaching from the northwest, they would have to move tonight in order to accomplish their mission. And so they did, easily overtaking the Aquilae from behind. There were no guards on deck, and they could easily have destroyed the little ship, then gone after the Akula. But, oddly enough, destruction was not their mission. Nor did their orders include it. In fact, their orders precluded the very possibility of it. They were to ignore the Aquilae and provoke the Akula, baiting the larger vessel into following them.
The mystic crew was proud of their shiny new warship, and wished to use it as it was meant to be used: as an armored gauntlet, to crush the enemy. But they would, as they generally did, follow orders. Regardless of how odd they seemed.
Freya, always an early riser, wasn't surprised to see that the sun had not risen before her. She was, however, somewhat surprised to see another early riser in the predawn light: Crimson. He looked up from the map he had been examining by the light of a fireball in his hand and nodded a greeting to the dragoon.
"Good morning. I believe that I know where we are. But before we discuss either that or our plans, would you help me raise and rig the mast? The darkening sky to the northeast tells me that speed is of the essence."
Freya got to her feet and stretched a few times before replying. "Alright."
Crimson had been of the impression that Freya wasn't one who would know much about sailing, but she surprised him by doing her parts of the task correctly the first time. Not as quickly or efficiently as Crimson did his, but he was impressed that she seemed to know what to do at all; he'd been told that Freya wasn't keen on sea travel. By the time the first tendrils of sunlight appeared over the eastern horizon, the launch was under full sail. They could only just see the dawn's light touch their destination: a rocky shore in the distant haze. As they sped west with a stiff breeze at their backs, Crimson told Freya of his master plan.
"Would you like to hear all of our options?"
Freya shook her head. "Just your recommendation will do. I trust you."
Apparently, those last three words still had an effect on him; a small, sad smile touched his mouth as he replied, "It's not been often that I've heard those words spoken sincerely of late." He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. "A cyclone is likely headed our way. Our first goal is merely to get ashore as quickly as possible. From the direction of the wind, I believe that this storm will blow us ashore if we do not arrive there first."
Freya looked first at the shore and then at the storm before pronouncing, "We won't make it." She wasn't being defeatist; she was merely stating a fact. Crimson nodded.
"I agree; my plans take that into account. The sharp rocks that lie beneath the cliffs of this shore have destroyed more than their share of ships. Thus, I do not particularly expect that this little boat will survive our landing. So we shall have to travel over land to find a new one. According to the chart I was examining earlier, there is a merchant port just south of the forest on the eastern coast. If we can get there quickly enough, before descriptions of us and our 'misdeeds' penetrate the forest, then we will simply buy a vessel capable of following the current all the way to the strait. Or, given my appearance, you would do the buying, but that is not the point . . . If we are too late, then we will have to do something I don't relish. We would have to travel to the foot of the mountains in the northwestern corner of the forest, to the demihuman settlement there."
"I thought you said you didn't like them."
"I said that I did not wish to stay with them; but other than their bitterness towards the Mystics, most are decent enough folk. We would lead a troop of them south to Porre where they would create a distraction by engaging the IMN contingent there. This would also occupy any Royal Guardian Navy forces in the area, giving us time to, ah, appropriate a suitable vessel and escape."
"Would they not object to being used in such a way?"
"I think not. In fact, if these demihumans at all resemble the others I've met, they will jump at even the slightest excuse to kill mystics. If anything, we will have a surplus of volunteers."
"I'm sorry to play the devil's advocate-" Freya began; but she was interrupted by a grimace and a word from Crimson.
"Ouch." Suddenly the dragoon realized her terrible pun, and was unable to hold back a slightly pained smile.
Crimson smiled back as she continued, "But what if there is no IMN presence there?"
"Ah, but there will be!" He paused and frowned slightly at the mast as a gust of wind made it creak. His frown faded as he turned back to Freya and continued, "You see, demihumans tell me things that they are unwilling to tell any other. I have on several good authorities, in fact, that the IMN has a repair facility in Porre. Though commercial in origin, its purpose is military." The creaking of the mast had already become continuous, even when the wind was not gusting.
"I think we should take down the mast now," remarked Freya in an offhand sort of way.
"Excellent idea."
Robshi: Thank you again, both for reviewing and for pointing out a deficiency in chapter 4! Man, you can tell this was the first fanfiction I ever wrote . . . LOTS of things left unexplained. I fixed chapter 4 - I think. I'm going through my other chapters now, trying to spot other, similar, omissions.