Hello everyone! Well, he's the second half of the chapter I promised you was the first. Although I ahve to say I apologize for the delay. As the old radio DJs always said 'the hits keep on coming'. The case is the same with me. A routine trip to town to get some crawfish got interesting when the fuel pump on my truck seized. I was out of action for a week but I'm back now.
Anyway, enough about me, onto the disclaimer.
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.
Chapter 2: Bury Your Dead
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Bertram looked behind him and saw enemy fighter closing again and lining up another burst. He rolled again and went into a split 'S' curve to evade but the enemy pilot simply led him on the turn and fired at him yet again. Bertram dove at the last moment and saw tracers flash by the canopy and one or two rounds glance off the engine. He picked up the dropped radio and called for assistance again.
"This is Gold-One, enemy plane is still on my tail and he is matching me move for move. I can't shake him no matter what I try. Can anyone assist?"
The plane closed again and was now so close that Bertram could see into the cockpit and saw the pilot pulling the charging handle on his guns. If he didn't evade this burst it was going to be the end of him. As he began to evade, a burst of flak from below caught the enemy plane in the fuselage. Whether by pure dumb luck or chance, the flak burst hit the plane's fuel tank. The result was a brilliant fireball that momentarily blinded Bertram. When his sight cleared, what was left of the enemy plane was a streaking mass of burning metal falling into the sea. As he wiped the sweat from his brow, he heard the radio crackle to life.
"Hey baby brother, sorry about the delay in speaking to you! Are you alright?" The familiar voice brought a smile to Bertram.
"Hey Josh! Yeah, I'm okay; thanks for saving my tail, w-wait a second! Where are you?"
"Look down."
Bertram tilted a wing over and saw a group of six Interceptor-class destroyers making steam towards the Federation fleet. The lead destroyer was easily going 29 knots. It was on this destroyer that he noticed the signal lights on the bridge were flashing.
"The Prince Obël is sunk. Water over-whelmed the pumps and she settled in the harbor. I was on the last lifeboat to leave and once I got to shore, the port commander placed me in command of a destroyer that lost its Captain and XO in the early stages of the attack. Our mission is to provide an extra escort for the Federation's carriers while their combat ships bloody the enemy's nose for them. Now then, if you'll excuse me, I must radio the Admiral."
Bertram smiled and then went back to pursuing the torpedo-bombers. Through his radio, he heard his brother make his announcement. He couldn't help but smile with pride and also think of what father would say when he heard the news.
"Attention Federation fleet, this is Ensign Joshua de Launces, commander of the RNV Interceptor, DD-10. We and five other destroyers are to bolster your AA shield."
"Copy that Interceptor. We thank you for your assistance."
Bertam lined up another bead and fired, dropping another torpedo-bomber and continuing onto another. The fact that his brother was no longer on board a burning ship somehow gave him not only a sigh of relief, but also lit a fiery determination that not one of these Rotarian bastards was going to get close to his brother's ship or his charges. Noticing the dive bombers change course, he radioed his brother.
"Josh! The enemy dive bombers are changing course and heading for you. I'll get behind them and rattle their cages."
"Interceptor copies. All hands to anti-air stations!"
Sirens on board the destroyers began sounding and the AA stations fired tracers and flak shells into the air. The dive bombers, apparently not expecting such a quick response, continued on course and made easy targets for the destroyer force's AA gunners. The enemt wing flew straight into the AA fire and were obliterated before Bertram could even line up a shot.
As Bertram turned away from the carnage, he saw the remaining enemy planes disengage and begin returning to the Rotiart fleet which was making full speed to try and escape the Federation and Syllian fleets. The enemy destroyers were laying down a thick smokescreen and were also dropping mines, launching torpedo spreads, and firing cannon salvos to cover the carriers and battleships. A second later, he heard Reyson on the radio.
"The enemy is in retreat, all planes without anti-ship armaments are to return to base at once. Leave the mop-up to the Navy. Gold Squadron, this means you especially."
Bertram recognized Reyson's tone of voice and decided it would be best to do as he said. He just knew he was going to get an earfull once Reyson landed.
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The scene at the airport as Bertram, Ayatane, and Jake landed was one of pure chaos. Fires were blazing everywhere, the twisted and burning wreckage of strafed and crashed planes littered the ground. As Bertram jumped down from the wing of his plane, his foot kicked an engine component of a blown up P-29 that was being cleared away nearby.
Of the fifteen hangars at the airfield, only two remained in relatively safe condition. The air control tower was a heap of stone and metal rubble, the still-burning fuel truck nearby. The view from the airfield, once so spectacular, was now a vision of carnage. Close to where Bertram had seen it last, the Prince Obël sat level in the water, a light steam and smoke trail coming from her destroyed funnels, the waves of the bay washing her deck, scouring away the blood and bodies of the men and women who had died upon her decks as she had been strafed time and again.
A capsized battleship lay near the moorings, men scrambling over her hull with cutting torches trying to rescue men still trapped inside. A small fire dragon from the local Dracocorps wing landed near them in the shallower part of the water and began using its fire element to cut the hull open. The wreckage of five destroyers, three battlecruisers, six battleships, two submarines, and one escort carrier filled the harbor and the bodies of countless men and women, military and civilian alike, stained the once crystal clear waters red. Patrol boats were sailing quickly from once said of the harbor to the other trying to find survivors still in the water. Worse of all was the occasional gunshot as sailors in the boats shot at sharks trying to enter the harbor looking for easy prey. Worse was the view of the city. Despite the best efforts of the fighters in the air, enemy bombers still managed to reach the city and several buildings were burning and sirens wailed throughout the city.
The radio continually came through with pleading requests for assistance fighting fires and helping trapped civilians and soldiers, Bertram vaguely heard a radio reply stating that help was on the way. He looked up and saw the Sanijo Home Wing of the Dracocorps circling, looking for a place they might be needed. Ice dragons began creating a barrier at the mouth of the harbor to keep sharks from entering. Water dragons dove into the water to patrol underneath. Electric and Lightning dragons landed on shore and worked with the people to restore power to the hospitals, fire and police stations, and other vital buildings. As Bertram began to head towards the airfield's damage control team, a young man wearing an officer's uniform from the Harbor Patrol Port Authority came running up towards the now landed pilots. The airfield officer came up as well looking in askance of what he was doing here. The man panted for a moment, out of breath and then looked up at the pilots and crew gathered around.
"We-We've got people trapped and wounded everywhere in the city and in the harbor. We need help from anyone you can spare or anyone that can move."
The air officer motioned for a truck to drive over and motioned for several men to climb in, including Jake and Ayatane. When Bertram moved to get in, the air officer shook his head.
"Bertram, you're needed here. A group from the Dracocorps is landing here, I'm placing you in charge of cleaning the airfield up. God knows we'll need all the runways working once the planes begin to return."
"In command? But sir, I'm only a Sergeant! Surely there are those higher ranked than me?"
"Speak to Reyson when he lands. As for your rank, all those above you are either, dead, injured, or occupied elsewhere. Alright, let's go!"
The truck started off with a roar, Bertram turned to see the maintenance sergeant come up and salute him.
"Sir! Work detail is assembled and awaiting your orders!" Bertram nodded slowly and took a breath.
"Commander said to get the runways clear, that's what we're going to do. Focus on clearing the runways and putting out fires. Put any wounded you find in Hangar 3, at least they'll be out of the smoke. As for fatalities, place them in Hangar 10."
"Yes, sir! Alright men you heard him, hop to it!"
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(a few hours later)
Bertram stood at attention in the base commander's office. Reyson stood before him, his face that infamous Havvers shade of red. His face streaked with dirt and oil. The base commander stood nearby, his dress uniform ruined beyond all repair by the smoke, blood, oil, and dirt from the search through the city. Bertram's only comfort was that his brother, Josh, was beside him and looking just as bedraggled as the rest of them. The only sound other than the machinery outside clearing the airfield was the ticking of a clock that somehow hadn't been knocked off the wall during the attack. Just as the silence was becoming unbearable, Reyson spoke to Bertram.
"Are you out of your bloody mind?! Disobeying my order to stay grounded, breaking away from your wingman without authorization, engaging enemy planes close to allied ships, and don't get me started about that damn hot-dogging stunt you pulled while I was engaging those bombers! Oh yes, I heard about that. Flying low over the water engaging torpedo bombers in their runs as well as shooting torpedoes in the water in an attempt to save more ships, by the way, you're damned lucky you didn't hit anyone who was treading water. You displayed reckless abandon, willful disregard for orders given. If you were anyone else, if you had performed one iota less efficiently, or made one mistake you would have been stripped of your rank and sent home with a dishonorable discharge. All in all, you are just as reckless as your father and I were when we were your age."
Bertram momentarily let his jaw drop at the complement at the tail end of the chewing-out before standing back at attention. Reyson nodded and, having delivered his rebuke, allowed the red color to fade and lifted a radio transcript and began reading from it.
"Sergeant Bertram Jaques de Launces of the Syllian Royal Air Force, these radio conversations and gun camera marks indicate that you shot down at least fifteen confirmed enemy kills and seven unconfirmed kills. Your actions, though reckless, provided enough of a shield that your brother's destroyer, the RNV Interceptor, suffered no damage while at dock other than the Captain and XO being strafed while running to their ship, as well as saving two cruisers and one battleship form being torpedoed. Once your brother took command of her, the Interceptor engaged and destroyed a total of twenty-seven enemy planes trying to dive bomb Federation carriers and torpedo Syllian battleships. For your actions under fire I am hereby promoting you to the rank of Lieutenant and assigning you an official squadron number. Your squadron will also recieve promotions but that's not why I called you here. I've recieved word your father is coming here to inspect the damage as is your mother who is coming to make sure the two of you are alright."
Bertram allowed a smile to show as Reyson finished. He looked at his brother.
"Well Josh, looks like we're the same rank now." At that moment, Reyson turned again, a mischievious smile on his face.
"Actually, Bertram, your brother has been promoted too. His actions to save the Prince Obël and later his actions on the Interceptor got him noticed by the port commander. Josh is now officially in command of the Interceptor and has been promoted to Lieutenant-Commander." Bertram stared aghast at his brother who chuckled lightly.
"Don't worry baby brother, some day you might just outrank me. Just not today."
The noise of a plane outside got their attention and Reyson looked out the window. A large four engine TP-25 Transport was landing on the runway. Reyson chuckled to himself.
"Well, speak of the devil. Alright you two, dismissed!"
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As the motion of the plane stopped and his aide opened the door, James de Launces, Archduke of Syllia, Lord of Launces, the Dragon Mechanist, and several other titles he didn't bother with (or couldn't remember), stepped out of the plane and surveyed the area and gazed with a sorrowful look at the city below. Being of dragon heritage meant he didn't age like humans did. However, enough of him was human that he had started to have grey streaks in his hair denoting his age. Yet despite this, he still stood tall and had that same piercing gaze from his miscolored eyes. One eye was a deep sapphire blue while the other was a vibrant silver.
He wore his old military uniform with his retired rank of Lord General on his shoulders. He leaned on a cane due to injuries recieved in his youth (primarily being shot in the same leg three or four times ove the course of his career). As his wife, Lyseerah de Launces exited the plane next, the door to the commander's office opened and out came their youngest sons, Josh and Bertram. Behind them stood James' old friend Reyson Havvers. Lysa came forward and embraced her sons as though she had though she had lost them. As he looked over the city again, Reyson came up to him.
"They caught us with our pants down James. One moment Bertram was about to win the air race and the next he's shooting down Rotarian aircraft over the harbor. It's thanks to Josh we got an advance warning. The Prince Obël was the only ship to survive the first ambush and it just barely made it back here to warn us." James sighed and nodded.
"How bad was it?" Reyson gave him a piece of paper, an after-action report. The numbers he saw made him sick to his stomach.
"See for yourself. Over four-thousand dead, military and civilian. Twice that wounded or maimed. We lost five destroyers, three battlecruisers, six battleships, two submarines, and one escort carrier and numerous other civilian and support ships here in port as well as eighty percent of our air force, roughly four-hundred fifty planes. The south-west defence now has a hole the size of Gojani's stomach and we can't patrol that much land and sea without reinforcements from other air districts."
James allowed himself to chuckle at the joke about the SW region Dracocorps wing leader before turning a sad gaze to the city again.
"We recieved word that Rotiart was planning something but I didn't know what. Intelligence was vague and we had little to no proof that they were up to something. I'm curious but also worried. What could Rotiart hope to achieve by declaring war on Syllia and invading the Federation? It doesn't make sense." Reyson looked at him with a shocked expression.
"Invaded? Rotiart has invaded the Federation?" James nodded.
"At roughly the same time as the raid here was taking place, some two million soldiers of the Rotiart Grand Army blitzed across the Federation border. The Tellanos Federal Army was caught off guard and they've already penetrated one-hundred miles into Federation territory. Tellanos mounted a counter attack and managed to stop Rotiart just outside of the city of Ursa. The Tellanian council has requested assistance from Syllia in this matter and the King agreed. As of...1200 hours today, we have allied with the Federation. The Royal 10th Army along with the 435th Armored Division should have reached Ursa by now. An official declaration of war is slated for tomorrow." Reyson thought for a moment then looked at James.
"The 435th Rainmakers? Doesn't Nick lead a tank battalion in that division?" James nodded.
"As Captain, he is in charge of ten LT-24-AP's , fifteen MT-29-C's, six MT-18-AP's, four HT-27-C's and three AT-18's. He commands one of the HT-27's and I know that it's one of the best tanks I've built yet I can't help but worry." Reyson laughed.
"Don't worry, you said the armor on an HT-27 could stop an 60mm shell easily. If memory serves, the 60mm is the standard for Rotiart technology. They haven't had the time nor the materials to design a new field gun."
"I suppose not, but still, as a father I worry. At least nothing is going on in Avalon at the moment. Perhaps when I get the chance I'll head down there for a few days. It has been some time since I've seen Thera and the grandkids." Reyson laughed again and cuffed James on the shoulder as his father, the late Jonathan Havvers, often did.
"Yeah, gramps, you need to see the grandkids every once in a while so you can spoil them. Hah...damn. I wonder what Dad would say if he were here." At the mention of Jonathan Havvers, James remembered when he'd recieved word that the airship Havvers was on had gone down in the mountains of Northumbria roughly three years ago. The crash of the Hyperion had been one of the defining reasons airships were never built en masse. Though the technology behind them was sound there were still too many problems.
"He'd probably say something along the lines of 'if you're knocked on your ass, get right back up and knock the other son-of-a-bitch of his ass and see how he likes it'."
"Amazing how many situations that one piece of advice could fit to." James nodded.
"According to the last letter from Thera, her youngest, Ryu, really takes the advice and stories of us she tells him to heart. He doesn't let any other dragons at the school bully him and he was advanced by Terrador into the Advanced Combat classes."
"Alright then James. By the way, your sons have something you might want to hear. As for me, I'm off to see if I can get Gojani to send a few wings here to bolster our numbers. I doubt the tub of lard would do anything if it didn't benefit him in some way."
"Just mention something about Home Wing evaluations and he'll snap to. At least with the other wing leaders under his command all you have to mention is that we are at war and they'll jump at the chance to do something. If not, contact Shimmer or Zakwell and they'll straighten him out."
"Yes, sir. Well, wish me luck."
Reyson saluted James, a mere formality, then turned and walked off to the radio room. James on the other hand, walked to where his sons and wife were, curious as to why the two of them were beaming. Then, turning and looking in the distance, he saw a ship steaming into the harbor and taking off from the deck were several dragons of many different scale colors and hues. Most notably, leading the group were four dragons: two females and two males. One female had black and magenta scales, the male behind and to the right had red and orange scales, the other female had silver scales and was hurrying into the port. Leading the formation was a dragon whose scales shown purple and gold in the sun. James smiled weakly at the formation incoming and turned back to Lysa and his sons.
"I guess we won't have to charter a ship to Avalon after all."
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(meanwhile, fifteen miles outside of Ursa, a major city in the Tellanos Federation)
Nick gritted his teeth as the HT-27 rolled over yet another abandoned Federation trench. Through his periscope, he sighed as he surveyed the devestation around him. His battalion was on point trying to find the Federation force they were supposed to be meeting here. If the intelligence was correct, they should have met them ten minutes ago. Scowling, he checked his map again and rechecked his coordinates.
"Let's see...X: 055, Y: 229. Thirty minutes south-by-southwest of Ursa...hmmm." He keyed his mike on his radio.
"Now hear this: All tanks make ready. We should have met with our allies by now but we haven't seen them. Load your guns in case we meet Rotiart forces."
A chorus of confirmations echoed through his headset as he clicked on his own tank's radio.
"Okay guys, if any of you somehow managed to get some sleep on the way here, now's the time to wake up. Briggs, make sure the tank has enough room to accelerate to full speed should we have to engage Rotiart forces." He then turned to the gunner in the turret with him.
"Mac, load the 65mm and make sure the motor runs smoothly, I don't want the turret to sieze in the middle of a firefight." At that moment, the loader and co-axil gunner came up.
"Jakes, Victor, man your stations. Eh, Jakes? Why is a damn salami in the gun barrel?"
"Only way to keep it cool sir. The Federation winter is almost as cold as Northumbrian winter. The iron gun barrel makes a great refrigerator. It's either salami sandwiches or C-rations and hard-tack."
"I'd sooner eat my boots than C-rations but still, get that overblown summer sausage out of the tank barrel, this is an armored vehicle, not a pantry. I don't care that you trained at the Royalis Culinary School, you are a soldier now and you will act like one, at least when we're in a battle zone. Oh and before I forget Victor, no eating it. I don't want to be smelling your salami farts in an enclosed space, especially with Michael's smoking habit. You'll blow us higher than a kite at Skyfort." As the crew laughed at the joke, Nick turned back to the periscope.
(Like father always says, a good laugh is a great way to loosen tension. The way these guys are wound, they'd likely snap at the first sign of danger and that could get them and others killed. I know them so well now they're like an extended family. Hell, the whole damn division is my extended family. All the more reason to see them home alive.)
"Hey Captain? I see smoke ahead. Looks to be about three miles out."
Before Nick could reply, a loud whistling noise was heard, followed by an explosion and the sound of something large and made of metal stopping and falling to pieces. Nick swiveled the periscope and gawked at what he saw. One of the LT-24's had been blown apart by a high speed shell of some sort. The twisted wreckage blazed with flames and Nick could see the outline of the three crewmen inside the tank, burning, and obviously dead from the impact. As he looked away, a series of whistles came through punctuated by several explosions. As he saw one of the AT-18's take a direct hit, veer off to the side and go nose first into a trench before exploding. Nick grabbed the radio and yelled the first thing that came to mind.
"Ambush! Prepare for battle!"
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Whew! Okay everyone, second chapter is here and ready for your eyes to enjoy. Now then, I am sure you all are wondering what I'm doing by leaving a cliffhanger here, well don't worry that will soon be revealed. Plus, as for the tank designations: LT stands for Light Tank, MT is for Medium Tank, and HT is for, you guessed it, Heavy Tank. Also there is an AT designation for Assault Tank or as they are more well known as 'tank-killers'.
Now the letters behind them denote what that tanks purpose is. For example, Nick's tank is an HT-27-C, meaning it front line Combat model of the HT-27. A tank with 'S' is for Scouting, and 'AP' means the tank is dedicated to an anti-infantry role. Now then, next chapter will bring the de Launces family together in Launces, including Spyro, Cynder, and an introduction to the grandkids.
Also, I am working on a tech guide for those of ya'll who want to see where I got the ideas for the weapons and machines used in the story. PM me if you'd like me to post it when it's complete either as an add-on to the story or a stand-alone one-shot.
Next time: A Shattered World
