Here it is. The last chapter of the Battle for White Sands. This is by no means the end of World Fury though, I think I may have yet another 28, 29, or 30 chapters in me before this story draws to a close.
Hmm...I wonder how many pages this story would be...
Anyway, on with the story.
BTW: Rotarian ships are not named but rather numbered so when I refer to a Rotarian ship, I shall give its designation (ex: battleship: BB) and the number.
ex: Rotarian battleship number 22 (BB22)
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.
Chapter 29: Battle for White Sands, Part 4
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Gerald and his squadron were almost to the battle when Reyson's mayday came over the radio and then moments later the Beowulf came over the radio.
"We have found Commander Havvers' crash site, however there is no sign of him. All evidence seems to claim that he was unable to escape and went down with his plane."
Gerald clutched the little medallion he always carried in his hand when he flew and said a prayer for Reyson. Then he switched to squadron frequency and keyed the comm.
"This is Ross, effective immediately I am requesting command of Reyson's squadron in conjunction with my own. We are still armed with anti-ship weaponry and I fully intend on making these bastards rue the day they took one of our best pilots from this world. Requesting permission to finish off the enemy carrier but that it be claimed as Reyson's kill."
"This is Beowulf. Permission granted. You might have to fight your way through a battleship or two as the carrier has made it to the fleet and is attempting to withdraw. Without its flight decks operational it is useless as a combat vessel. Still, we cannot allow them to dry dock that ship and repair it."
"Beowulf, my men and I would fight through half the damn Rotarian Navy for a crack at that carrier."
"Well, it's a good thing you won't have to Group Leader."
Gerald was caught of guard by the sudden transmission of what was obviously a Praetorian accent on the frequency.
"This is the Bastion 2nd Fighter Group. Identify yourselves."
The droning of engines got his attention and he glanced left to see an entire formation (4 wings) of Praetorian planes comprised mainly of single-engine A210-B3 and twin-engine F211 fighter/bombers, and B208 single-engine light bombers.
"This is the Praetorian 16th Imperial Combat Wing, Wing Commander Edward Bates commanding and speaking. Based out of Dune City on the Damonenian border. We heard you lads were in a bit of a spot and high command thought it best if we got over here and lend you a hand. Especially seeing as our new Empress and Lord Chancellor are your former King and Queen." Gerald sighed and smiled and keyed the mike.
"God Bless the Empress." This brought laughter from the Praetorian planes.
"Quite. Now then, Commander Ross, what pray tell is the sticky wicket we may help you with today?" Gerald was near the battle and scanned it visually to confirm it then answered.
"To put it bluntly Commander, the enemy has opened the gates of hell and have sent the damned to slaughter us. On our side we've got a battlecruiser, a cruiser, a heavy destroyer, and two destroyers against twelve battleships, six battlecruisers, one anti-air cruiser, a damaged supercarrier that's trying to slink out of combat, and a damned flotilla of heavy destroyers. On top of that, we just lost our senior most pilot, Reyson Havvers and it appears as though what's left of his squadron got hammered real bad after he went down. Can you help us thin them out?"
"That's why we're here, Commander. Now then, as we are carrying ordnance that may prove quite...hazardous...to the enemy's health, please clear the way for our bombers to breach the enemy fleet. I promise you, you'll be in for quite a show." Gerald laughed.
"I'll hold you to that, oh, and tell your men that if any of you sink that bastard of a carrier, I'll personally buy a round for the whole damn wing."
"Right, well fair to warn you that as most of us come from the the desert and we tend to work up quite a thirst. Alright, we're coming over the Bastion now...Good night look at them all! I'd say you weren't exaggerating about the enemy Commander Ross. Not even Her Majesty's First Flotilla has that many battleships assigned to it." Gerald kept his thoughts to himself but couldn't resist jabbing the infamous Praetorian dry wit.
"Having second thoughts, Commander?"
"Hardly. Just wondering how the hell we're going to tally up the kills here. It takes what, seven torpedoes to sink a battleship? If seven planes engage a ship and sink it, who gets the credit?"
"Shall we list it by deathblow?"
"He who kills it, keeps it? Rather archaic, don't you think?"
"Seems the easiest way to go."
"Very well, and, as our pride as Praetorian pilots is on the line as well as a free round at the next pub, I suppose we'd best outperform you lot." Gerald laughed and keyed the mike one last time.
"Gentlemen, the game is on."
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Josh couldn't possibly imaging what the Rotarians were thinking, seeing Syllian, Tullinar, and Praetorian planes coming down from on high but he satisfied himself with the guess that many of the enemy were rushing to find their brown pants. The Beowulf had rejoined the pickett line once they had cleared Reyson's crash site and had their guns turned to face the enemy fleet that was fast approaching.
Rotarian ships had names but they were not known to outsiders, rather, the ships had numbers painted on their hulls to identify them to each other and to the enemy. Through his binoculars, Josh saw one of the battleships, number 11, swing wide with battleships 8 and 44, rotating all guns to starboard to broadside the pickett line with their 17.5 inch guns.
The broadside fired at the same time as the Beowulf's and the shells arced across the air almost intercepting each other. Geysers of water erupted from around the Beowulf as shells hit the water. Explosions from behind the ship confirmed for Josh that one or more of his ships had been hit. Then the Beowulf itself was rocked with an explosion that tore Josh's gaze to the stern where turrets two and three erupted into flames and the second smokestack, weakened from the first battle, broke free of its remaining cables and toppled overboard and sank. To his credit, Josh went immediately into damage control.
"Shut all vents to the second stack, it's gone. Someone get fire crews to turrets two and three to check for survivors! I need a status report from the other ships!" Anne came forward and saluted, her face worried.
"Commander, the Beowulf is damaged but it's light, no shells hit the hull or pierced the waterline. The Minotaur was struck in the bridge and its fore and aft radar posts were destroyed as well as their bow turrets. The Aurora and Tribal evaded the attack but the Minerva was almost cut in half. Her engines are flooded, stern batteries destroyed, and she's burning. " Josh cursed and then turned back to the enemy fleet which was, undoubtably, preparing yet another broadside. The gunnery officer came up, a knowing look on his face.
"The first broadside was a bracketting attack to get the range right. You aren't assigned to a battleship unless you can accurately drop shells onto the enemy ships, that being said, battleship gunners are the best of the best. Chances are the second attack'll be the last." Josh nodded grimly.
The armor on the Beowulf was just under 9 inches. No single hit would sink her but a full broadside from one battleship, twelve guns, would do severe damage. The Minotaur, being a standard cruiser, had 6.5 inches of armor, the Aurora and Tribal had 2 inches of armor, but still maintained their maneuverability. The Minerva though, damaged as she was, and with her 1.5 inch armor plates compromised in several areas, would take at least one more hit before she succumbed to her wounds. No matter how Josh did the math, the only ships capable of surviving a close range broadside of this magnitude was the Beowulf and the Minotaur.
And that chance was a slim one, at best.
As Josh prepared to order all hands brace for impact, a loud whistling sound pierced the air from behind them. Josh watched as several rounds, glowing red hot from the barrels that had fired them, sailed through the air and impacted BB11. Josh watched as turrets one and four exploded and sirens blared as fire quickly spread to, and destroyed turret three, crippling the battleship.
Wanting an explanation, Josh turned to the radar operator who was staring aghast at the screen and then he heard a lookout screaming his head off.
"The Fleet! The Fleet! Thanks be to God the Fleet has arrived!" As Josh turned to look for himself, a DC (Damage Control) engineer came in, beaming triumphantly.
"Long range radio repaired sir!" Josh flipped it on and was greeted by transmission after transmission coming in loud and clear.
"Attention RNV Beowulf, this is the Battleship RNV Indomitable, off of your starboard side. Commander, are you and your crew alright?" Josh recognized the voice and keyed it.
"Admiral Carver?! When did you set sail sir?"
"Almost as soon as we recieved word that the enemy was launching a massive counteroffensive with the goal of stalling our ground forces. That, and the fact that when you stopped transmitting we assumed something was wrong. Looks like the Rotarians have thrown everything but the kitchen sink at you. Not to worry, have your vessels disengage and we'll take care of this rabble." Josh looked around to his crew and saw their expressions and keyed the radio.
"Understood sir, requesting assistance in evacuating one of my ships, the Minerva. She's been shot to hell and likely won't stay afloat for much longer. She also has numerous wounded and casualties."
"I've already dispatched one of my heavy destroyers, the Reliant, to her side. Any other requests, Commander?" Josh keyed the mike, knowing what he wanted to say.
"Sir, I only ask that you give the enemy hell for what they've done today. They've murdered the crew of the Lion and used her as a trap claiming she'd been diabled by a mine, sunk the Solent and machinegunned her crew in the water we barely were able to save ten out of the hundred twenty-six of her crew and they were all wounded. They shot down Reyson Havvers, and have shown no pretense of honor. Sir, I ask that the fleet sink the enemy and let God sort them out."
"Request understood and acknowledged Commander. Task Force 15, disengage and fall back to Broken Anchor. You've all done well."
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The fleet was comprised not only of Syllian vessels but also Tellanian vessels that had been part of the Federal Navy-in-Exile. Most surprising was to see all six of the new Greagor-class battleships in the fleet. Being named after the late Lord Admiral William C. Greagor, these vessels were the pride of the Navy, an assignment that most sailors would have given anything to have.
Though the Syllian Greagor-class battleships and Tellanian D'Arc-class battleships didn't have anything close to the 17.5 inch guns of the Rotarian ships, their guns had been specially modified to fire what was known as 'Magnum Shells'; specially designed shells to fire in battleship engagements. The Greagor-class used 16.5 inch guns and the D'Arc had 15 inch guns but they were manned by the most experienced and veteran gunners both navies had to offer.
As soon as the Beowulf and her group were out of the way, Admiral Carver turned to the Gunnery Officer aboard his flagship, Indomitable, and barked out the commands to prepare to fire. Moments later, the great slugfest had begun with battleships and battlecruisers sending broadsides back and forth, destroyers launching torpedoes and firing their dual purpose cannons at anything that so much as looked like an enemy plane.
One of the enemy battleships, BB12, was struck by four torpedoes, capsized and caught fire before a delayed broadside put enough holes in her to consign her to the deep. A hastily fired broadside raked the deck of another enemy battleship, collapsing its fore and aft bridges, smokestacks, and destroying the turrets.
The enemy, obviously not prepared for a long, drawn-out battle, began deploying smoke to cover their retreat. Admiral Carver saw this and smiled.
"Notify our air cover, it's open season on the enemy ships."
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Gerald was flying CAP when the announcement came over the radio. He immediately broke formation and keyed his radio.
"All aircraft, we are weapons hot. Give 'em hell!"
The remainder of Reyson squadron was equipped with bombs and they started harrassing one of the battleships when on of them managed to drop a bomb between the first and second turrets and detonated the magazine. The ship's bow lifted out of the water and exploded, sending the burning husk of the first turret down onto one of the battlecruisers nearby, smashing the flight deck and shooting the ruptured bow section forward cleaving a heavy destroyer in half.
A Syllian plane laoded down with rockets started taking potshots at the heavy destroyers trying to shield the capital ships with smoke and managed to sink three of them before fire from the AA cruiser drove him off. Moments later, a Praetorian light bomber dropped its entire load onto the cruiser, effectively detonating both fore and aft magazines and all but vaporizing the ship.
Now that the only strong anti-air vessel was sinking, the aircraft redoubled their efforts and the fleet began advancing towards the enemy, firing all the way. As they attacked, Gerald gazed up and saw the enemy carrier, unguarded, making its way away from the fight.
"Tally-ho on the carrier, she's sacrificing her escorts to make better speed while escaping, who wants to help me show them the error of their ways?" Almost instantly two Tullinar and Praetorian planes came up on his left and right wings.
"This is Eagles One and Three of the Tullinar Force, we'll fly with you Commander."
"You bloody well better not forget about us here, Commander."
"Copy that. Alright, shall we draws straws for who gets the first crack at it?"
"Well Commander there is an old Praetorian saying of age before beauty." This brought laughter from the Tullinar planes as well as a retort.
"What are you saying Commander? Are you and old man or do you think you're beautiful?"
"Hardly. Far more likely that Commander Ross is old enough to be my Father and as for beauty, when we land I'll show you a picture of my wife and you'll see what beauty is. Commander Ross, you may take the first attack, we'll follow up and the Bozo brothers over there can have what's left."
"Alright, here we go."
Gerald performed a textbook wingover and dove straight for the carrier, guns blazing. His cannons were ripping holes in the hastily repaired starboard flight deck and also ripping holes in any unfortunate crewmen caught below. When he felt he was going fast enough, he released the bombs under his wings and peeled away, turning back once he leveled just in time to see one of the elevators fitted to the deck for raising and lowering planes blown out of its housing, sail into the air thirty or forty feet and crash down onto the fantail before slinding into the sea.
Almost instantly, the remaining intact AA guns on the carrier targeted him.
"Boys, I think I got their attention. They must have been preparing a new wave of aircraft. With that elevator gone you can see clear below decks, see if one of you guys can't hit a bullseye."
"This is Boxer Two, I have the hole, I'm going for it."
One of the Praetorian bombers mimicked Gerald's maneuver and dove for the carrier. Belatedly, the AA gunners shifted fire upwards to the incoming attack aircraft. The pilot swore and then keyed his mike.
"Where the hell did they get so much resistance?" Gerald answered bluntly.
"Probably because they weren't fighting for their lives earlier."
The AA and flak was impressive but not enough to stop the pilot and plane. The pilot waited a little longer than Gerald did and released his bombs a little lower and then leveled off and almost skimmed the flight deck as he 'de-assed the area'. Needless to say, the Rotarians were indeed storing fuel and ammunition below the flight deck for a quick deployment because no sooner had the Praetorian plane left the fantail did the whole starboard deck explode.
A flash fire blew open the hatches to the exterior elevators and also sent the remaining deck-locked elevators flying upwards. A good twenty feet of the flight deck lifted up and folded back onto itself. The sound of screeching metal could be heard as the supports and braces keeping the flight deck stable snapped and broke.
Gerald could only watch in mixed horror and fascination as the carrier all but split length-ways and the starboard flight deck broke away and sunk. Now unbalanced, the carrier rolled to port and capsized. The tower bridge hitting the water with enough force to tear it free of the deck and rip it apart, leaving a new hole where the bridge was supposed to be. The hull stayed rolled over on the port side. Gazing at the stern, Gerald could still see two of the four engines turning rapidly as if still trying to propel the ship forward.
The hull of the ship was a marvel to be sure. It appeared to have started as a deep water battleship of some sort but then two shallow draft hulls had been welded, bolted, and fitted together to allow for the flight decks to be added. The only fault in the design was that the hangars had been connected so the explosion that ripped the starboard deck away also mortally wounded the port deck and allowed it to roll. The ship remained as it was for thirty, perhaps forty-five seconds before the engines finally ground to a halt and the carrier finally sucumbed to the sea. Gerald waited until the last glimpse of the carrier was gone before he keyed his radio.
"This is Commander Ross to all planes and vessels, the enemy carrier has been sunk! Repeat, the supercarrier has been sunk!" Amidst the cheering that came through, the Praetorian commander spoke up.
"Now then Commander Ross, I believe that our drinks, when you buy the round you promised us, well, after a day like today, nothing sounds better than a nice, cold beer. Or perhaps a nice spot of brandy, if you have it."
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It was some time before the fleet returned to Broken Anchor. The crew of the Beowulf had heard the news that the carrier was sunk but that joy was tempered by the losses they had sustained. Anne went over the casualty list before going into Josh's cabin and sighed.
The DC teams hadn't saved many. The crews of turrets two and three were wiped out, no survivors. Two men of the DC teams had been severly burned by the flames and another scalded when a steam pressure line burst. Six men had died when the second smokestack had broken free and crushed the batteries on that side. It had also taken the two AA gunners stationed on it with it.
The Minerva had at first been towed but when she started taking on water, the captain of the Reliant ordered her cut loose and scuttled. Twenty crew, out of eighty-five survived. The Solent crew had ten survivors. The Aurora and Tribal, thankfully, didn't have any casualties thanks to their successful maneuvering. The Minotaur, with its bow turrets destroyed and the damage irreperable, was slated to be scrapped once the bodies of the dead crew were removed and identified.
As Anne went to open the hatch, she caught sight of her father approaching and shaking his head.
"The Commander's not in his quarters. He went out onto the beach nearby and haven't seen him since."
Anne relinquished the papers to her father and walked off the ship towards the stretch of white sand beach that was outside the harbor. She walked along the beach for a while but still saw no sign of Josh. There was a bend ahead where the beach wrapped the peninsula and, following a guess, she rounded the point and gasped with amazement.
There, sprawled onto the beach, completely stretched out, was Josh, in dragon form, groaning as his body worked to recover from his earlier exertions.
Now that she could see his true form, when he wasn't ripping apart battlecruisers, she had to admit he was immense. Josh's natural form was long enough from nose tip to tail tip would have placed him rivaling a destroyer. His wings, though folded, still had that appearance that, if he unfurled them, he could blot out the sun. His eyes were closed as Anne approached and she cautiously, gently, lay her hand on his foreleg and went wide-eyed as she felt his muscles under the scales tense and relax rapidly.
Josh opened his right eye and angled it towards her. Anne found herself breathless as she started into what was a solid mass of deep saphire and tinged silver. In the eye she could see her reflection and could also see the gentleness and kindness that underlay them. She froze for a moment before Josh blinked and spoke.
"Anne. Come to deliver the casualty reports?" Anne shook her head, more likely clearing her thoughts but still.
"No, I handed them off to my father when he told me you were out here. A-Are you in much pain?" Josh chuckled and then groaned as he flexed again. This time Anne could swear she heard his muscles straining and creaking as he moved. Seeing her expression, he rushed to reassure her.
"No, not like I was on the ship. On the ship, my body wanted to shift so that I could unwind the muscles. I waited too long to shift and now they've all cramped up. I'm just resting here, letting the sand bake them out. Though, it'll probably take most of the evening."
Anne looked at Josh's body and, thought she didn't know why, she eased a hand over the scales, assuring herself they weren't sharp, and then she started rubbing his foreleg. Josh's eye shot open and gazed at her again.
"A-Anne, what are you doing?" Anne smiled but kept rubbing.
"When I was little, my step-father had a servant who was an expert in therepy. She taught me how to relieve muscle cramps and spasms through massage. Heh, if mother had ever caught her teaching me what she knew, she'd have fired her. I figure, if dragon muscles are in any way similar to human muscles, you may have some points that can relieve the cramps." Josh sighed but didn't stop her as she kept rubbing. Soon though, he felt the pain in his right foreleg lessen, then dissipate altogether. Then, she felt her hands shift and start working on his neck and shoulders. Josh quickly remembered something and spoke.
"Anne, j-just what where y-you rub...uh...after exertions like that, dragon scales are often very sensitive. I uh, think you might best stop and let me recover normally." Anne stopped and looked at him.
"Let you suffer? Why?" Josh quickly realized his poor choice of words and explained.
"It's not that, it's just...well...in dragon form, dragons usually either bath in water or rub scales with...their mates...to relax and get clean...Usually, with mated couples...a cleaning leads to...uh, something else entirely." Anne understood immediately but then smiled and started rubbing again.
"Well then, it's a good thing that I like you Joshua de Launces."
THAT got Josh's attention and he angled his eye back and saw her grinning like a schoolgirl and soon enough, he too, started grinning like a fool.
"So...you don't mind that I'm a dragon pretending to be a human?" Anne chuckled.
"You're not a dragon pretending. You have a human side. I'm comfortable around you, human or dragon, I don't care." Josh's smile widened and he lay his bead backdown, thoughts swimming and then, much to his amazement (and to Anne's humor), he started purring. He heard Anne comment about how he sounded like a large cat but paid it no mind.
Here was a woman, a human woman, who just said she liked him. Not just like liked him but liked liked him. He felt his neck loosen enough so that he could turn it and, in his thoughts, he misjudged the distance to Anne and his snout was right in front of her. Then, she kissed him, on the snout and embraced his dragon head.
"Joshua de Launces, when this war is over, do you think...I mean." Josh chuckled and eyed her.
"Normally it's the male who asks the female to be his mate, not the other way around." Anne chuckled, then moved to sit next to him and motioned for him to lower his head.
"Well, what can I say, I take after my father in that I march to the beat of my own drum." Josh chuckled and lay his head down onto her lap and smiled.
"That you do Anne. That you do."
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(Launces)
Jake Havvers and the rest of the Launces First Air Wing had just landed their aircraft from another patrol. Near him of course Sahne flurting with Ayatane. Werner, the squadron's griffon mascot, talking with Voss, Wolff, and, Kani. Bertram and Dieter swapping stories and several others of the wing listening with rapt attention. He heard an engine stop outside the hangar and saw some soldiers come in wearing their dress uniforms. Bertram saw this and rose.
"Can we help you gentlemen?" One of them saluted him but then turned to Jake.
"Jacob Havvers?" Jake nodded as the other came forward.
"Sir, what we have to say would be best done in private." Jake shook his head, unaware of anything amiss.
"What you say to me you can say to my squadron, we keep no secrets from one another." The man gazed to the other pilots, his eyes lingered on the Rotarian pilots and Werner before returning to Jake.
"Sir, we regret to inform you that your father, Reyson Havvers...has been shot down and is presumed lost at sea during the Battle of White Sands that ended earlier today. The battlecruiser Beowulf, under the command of Joshua de Launces, found the wreck site but the plane is believed to have sunk before he could escape. I...I am sorry, sir for your loss and felt it prudent to inform you before we travel to the city proper and inform your mother."
Jake reeled as if struck and hurriedly took a seat in a chair one of the ground crew had been quick-witted enough to fetch. Bertram closed with his friend and, for the first time since his grandfather, Jonathan Havvers, had died, Bertram saw his friend weep openly.
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(Near White Sands)
The small boat plowed through the water. Spotlight going back and forth shining in the faces of the floating dead. The majority of whom were Rotarian. The men and the boat however, were not Rotarian, they were from Tullinar. The sight where the battle had taken place was their fishing spot and, since the fish seemed...reluctant...to come to their nets, they decided they would profit from the misfortune of the deceased. The men would pull a body up, strip if of anythin that looked valuable as well as the life jacket, then release the body to be embraced by the depths. They already had a collection of watches, rings, ID cards, knives, sidearms, (soggy) cigarettes, some flasks with Rotarian liquor (which they poured out).
In the distance, one of the men spotted something glowing red and motioned it to his fellows who, curious, went in to inspect the sight.
When they arrived, they found a middle-aged man, holding a red distress flare in a deathgrip. He had evidentaly pulled himsefl from the waters and onto a piece of debris and ignited the flare. From the uniform, they could see he was Syllian so instead of looting him, they made their way to bury him at sea. However, just as one of them touched the man, his eyes shot open, he took three deep breaths and locked eyes with the men who staggered back swearing in both fear and surprise. The pilot looked the Captain in the eye before passing out. The Captain turned and looked to his men.
"Let's get him to shore! Quickly!"
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Well, there's the end of the Battle of White Sands, I hope you all enjoyed it. Well now the next chapter will shift focus back to Syllia and now the war shall escalate. With Mechanos' plans in Tullinar unravalling, what will he do next?
Next chapter will say it.
Next Chapter: Blitzkrieg