DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.
Chapter 36: Red Dawn
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The ocean waters were calm and serene. A deep blue that in most sailors opinions put even the biggest and brightest of saphires to shame. Just under the surface of the calm current swam schools of fish in various colors and sizes. Trailing the fish swam the hunters, hoping for a chance at an easy meal. Indeed, the ocean was calm today; yet, if anyone had been around to notice, they would have seen something...strange.
Two short black cylinders bobbing along in a forward motion. One slightly taller than the other and the foremost having a slight reflective sheen to it.
Under the calm currents of the ocean, under the schools of fish and their swarms of predators, past the point where the sun's warm rays can no longer pierce the ocean, the point where the vibrant blue of the surface gives way to the inky darkness of the deep ocean that houses all manner of creature more befitting nightmares than dreams. It is through this darkness that a submarine cruises slowly, yet surely, through the depths. The only sign of its presense are, of course, its radio mast and periscope, fully extended to the surface both to recieve news of the world but also the gaze around and ensure that there are no threats on the surface.
A submarine, though a machine, is a predator. A metallic wolf that lurks beneath the surface, awaiting patiently for its prey of choice, merchant vessels, to sail into the crosshair of the scope. Yet, even the predator has it's predator. The only surface ship capable of sinking a submarine while submerged is a destroyer, the depth charges they employ to destroy subs create pressure bubbles deep under the water near the sub. These bubbles are there only for an instant before water rushes back in to fill the void and creates a pocket of pressure so extreme that nothing in its vacinity can survive.
Today though, there were no surface ships. No merchantmen, no warships, not even fishing boats. Just the submarine, deep under the waves, though its orders, to be sure, would give the targets of these orders nightmares for years to come.
ORDER COMMUNICATION 14C-3G
TIDEPOOL NAVAL BASE TO SSM-4903
INTEL CONFIRMS DESTRUCTION OF 666 D SQUADRON AND 138 WING.
THOUGH FORCE IS LOST, OBJECTIVE HAS SUCCEEDED. SYLLIAN 5TH FLEET BELIEVED DELAYED FOR TIME BEING.
4903 IS TO HOLD POSITION OUTSIDE RANGE OF PC WALL GUNS AND BEGIN BOMBARDMENT OPERATIONS. LAUNCH OF KLASSE 1 ROCKETS CONFIRMED.
YOUR REQUEST TO USE KLASSE 2 ROCKETS HAS BEEN DENIED BY ORDER OF THE EMPEROR. HE BELIEVES THAT USE OF SPECIAL WEAPONS ON SYLLIAN SOIL WOULD BE DETRIMENTAL TO OUR EFFORTS.
CONFIRMATION CODE: ADTF4106-267CBZO
MESSAGE TERMINATES.
The Captain gave the message back to the XO and turned to the helmsman.
"All engines ahead flank. We're no longer running silent. Surface the boat, we'll run on top." The XO nodded and turned to the crew.
"Surface the ship, aye! All engines ahead flank! Once we surface, all lookouts above and open the cannon bays!" The radioman raised his hand.
"Captain, request from a force on nearby island. They're requesting a volley against a holdout force." The special weapons officer smiled.
"Captain, it would give us a chance to calibrate the gyroscopes. I'm afraid the loading crews didn't bother setting them properly. We don't want one of them coming back at us." The Captain, secretly wanting to see these new weapons in action, nodded.
"Prepare Chambers one, five, eight, and twelve. Get me a firing solution. XO, cancel the cannons. Instead, ready the viewing chamber. I'm going to see this."
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(moments later)
The Captain stood on the viewing deck as the armor plates shielding it rose. The intercom had not gone silent once as he listened in to the crews in the rocket chambers preping their weapons.
"Target aquisition room at the ready. Enemy coordinates are: 156 degrees latitude, 4 degrees east, 047 degrees longitude, 2.5 degrees south. Setting gyros."
...
...
"Gyros are set. Hydrolics are good. Opening outer doors on chambers one, five, eight, and twelve. Turning over to firing control."
"Fire control ready, lifting elevator table for chambers. All compartments, we are live. Repeat, weapons are live."
A mechanical noise made the Captain look us as four rockets rose from their chambers. Stabilizers and all, and halted just as the engines were visible.
"Fire control is set. Captain, XO, SWO, please insert your weapons keys and activate the command console.."
The Captain had already handed his key to the Special Weapons Officer, or SWO, and smiled as the lights in the observation room changed from white to red.
"Command fire authorized. Emergency launch engaged. Rockts will fire without countdown. All hands, brace for recoil. Fire one!"
The engine on the first rocket ignited with a burst of blue-white flames. The cables holding it steady snapped free and the support detached and fell away. The rocket sailed upwards for about fifty feet, then abruptly turned and headed inland towards the location of the holdout force.
"Fire two!"
The second rocket performed likewise similar to the first. Then later the third, and finally the fourth.
"All rockets are away. Travelling hot, straight, and normal. Impact estimated for first rocket, twenty seconds. Add eight seconds for each subsequent missile."
The Captain's pocketwatch was ticking steady. He turned to the crewman next to him, confident.
"Up periscope. I want to see what kind of impact this thing makes."
There was a low humming as the observation periscope rose from its housing and made its way to what the crew called 'O Deck'. The Captain flipped down the arms of the scope and turned it, peering through the scope at the same time towards the target. The ticking of his watch, normally near silent and unheard, was now echoing in his ears as it often did whenever he fired a torpedo. It was the only sound that reached him as he counted down the seconds.
Ten...
Nine...
Eight...
Seven...
Six...
Five...
Four...
Three...
Two...
One...
"Zero!"
As the Captain said that, the first rocket struck the fortress on Papylov Island, one of the small islands south of mainland Tellanos. Though the mainland had fallen, the island garrisons continued to resist. Many of them fighting to the death for their homeland.
And though Mechanos never admitted it, the Rotarian Army was paying for every inch of these islands with blood. More blood than the weaklings back home would have been able to stand. It seemed that for every one Tellanian soldier killed, the Tellanians would kill sixty Rotarians. Plus, the Tellanians had taken a page from the playbook of the Heavy Combat Corps and had rigged suicide bombs to their belts. These belts held grenades but also were lined with enough E6 explosive to put a six foot hole in the ground. If there was any chance or danger that a soldier would be captured, he was to pull the fuse on the belt and run into the enemy and kill as many of them as he possibly could.
It was the same way with the Special Weapons Division Units. Ships and subs had scuttling charges, tanks had self-destruct charges, planes had crash charges, and the HCC had grenade belts.
The Gigantic was no exeption.
The rockets seemed to hit the fortress one after another, pulvarizing the walls and anyone or anything inside or near them. The way was clear for the Rotarian forces to storm the fort and finish the job the rockets had started. The Captain smiled as the Rotarian flag was hoisted in place of the Federation's flag and came away from the scope.
"Down scope. Hand me the intercom. Attention, all crew. Out of four rockets launched, all four have struck their target. Our congradulations to Lieutenant Rödder of the Rocket Control Center, and to Major Illya of the Special Weapons Corps. Our weapons are now to be calibrated for our attack on Peninsula City. Return the ship to previous course and speed. We've had our fun for today."
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(RNV Leviathan, twenty-six miles outside Peninsula City)
Josh had been going over the letter he'd recieved from his parents about Bertram. James had been thoroughly shocked by his youngest son's actions and Lysa was horrified that Bertram would have done such a thing. Bertram had not spoken a word since being relieved of duty and confined to the barracks. He ate and drank alone, kept the door locked, and wouldn't even unlock it for Josh. Dieter was on the bridge with him and he decided to ask the veteran pilot for his advice. Dieter sighed and thought back to the last days of the Incursion, when he was under Gerald's command.
"I remember in the last days, one of our wingmen, a young hotshot pilot who had made a name performing acrobatics for star-struck crowds, had gone after a man who had bailed out but was stopped by Gerald's intervention. Once we were on the ground, the pilot thought he'd take a punch at Gerald for screwing up his shot. One glare from Gerald stopped that and he called us to attention. I still remember his words in my ears as clearly as the day he said them."
'You are a fighter pilot. First. Last. Always. If I ever hear of any of you shooting a man in his parachute, I'll kill you myself!'
"To say that he put the fear of God into the nuggets who'd been assigned to us was an understatement. He taught us to go after planes, not people. That there was a code of honor, of ethics, when fighting in the skies. Any man can take a life but when he is killed, the enemy with breathe a sigh of relief, forget him, and move on. But a pilot who never murders, who goes into battle and fights with courage, honor, and integrity, thatpilot will never be forgotten and shall live on in history. Being remembered as a hero by both friend and foe, a man who will inspire countless generations who in turn will also inspire and amaze. A story that will become a tale, a tale that shall become a legend, and a legend that shall endure long after the man in question has turned to dust and taken his story with him."
Dieter stepped over to the window and sighed wistfully.
"To this day, people in Tellanos still talk of our squadron. We started out as simple escorts but became the greatest aces of the Incursion. We were so well known that the enemy tried to demoralize us by claiming us shot down several times. Gerald finally put an end to that when he had us paint our planes in different colors so that we would stand out. Whenever our troops or our bombers caught sight of his blood red plane, they rejoiced and the enemy cowered in their boots and trenches. He was the more...noticable of our squadron but we all had our unique planes. Mine for instance was repainted white with red and blue bars on the wings and tail and Jyne..." Dieter burst into a fit of laughter that got the attention of the others until he finally calmed down.
"Jyne, he got the idea to paint his plane to look like a kilt worn by those Highlanders in Syllia. Imagine, if you will, how rediculous a biplane painted red, green, black and gold in plaid pattern looks. Everyone in the squadron ribbed him for it but it...it was all in good fun." Dieter chuckled some more and then wiped a tear from his eye.
"They called us the 'Flying Circus' because of our planes but also because of the acrobatics and maneuvers we pulled while we fought. Gerald once actually flew in between the towers of the Retorinc Council Office and flew near vertically up a clock tower. Me, I buzzed a battleship, flying right between the forward bridge and the first smokestack. Another barnstormed one that had been shot through the funnel and flew through the hole. From that day on he was known as 'Old Smoky' to us." Dieter then sighed and looked back at Josh.
"As for what to do with Bertram, I cannot say. The pilot in me says he mistook skill for luck but then again I've fought him before and we both once duelled each other to a draw. They say that if a squadron is fortunate enough not to suffer casualties that they are 'immortal'. This reputation makes it to both the squadron and the foe alike and the enemy becomes determined to destroy that belief while the squadron either becomes overconfidant or more careful." He paused as more of the wing joined to listen.
"Bertram was prepared that someday he might die as he was shot down before but...he was not prepared to lose a wingman, someone he was close to, knew for a very long time. If he has become what I think he's become, the only option would be to dismiss him from the RAF." This brought glares from the group and Dieter quickly amended his words.
"Although, there is a chance that he may snap out of it. Shrinks call it 'Avengement Disorder' where the pilot blames himself for the loss of his comrade and cannot rest until either he breaks, or he has annihilated those responsible for the loss." Josh nodded at this, having heard of such a thing before.
"Sometimes the grief is so overpowering, the pilot sinks into a depression afterwards because he knows that he could kill the enemy a thousand times over but in the end dead is dead and there is no reviving a slain friend. He just kills the enemy to stop the pain. For him, King and Country mean next to nothing anymore. Put him in a fight, you'll either have a powerful comrade or a loose cannon. It depends on who the enemy is." Voss came forward and spoke to Josh.
"He also has a handicap. You know what I speak of. That rage you felt as you tore that battlecruiser apart yet you showed restraint at the last moment. Bertram, his sorrow and anger are so powerful he ignores his humanity and embraces the feral emotions of the dragon inside him. Very seldom does he ever shift and when he does he sticks to shadows. I've seen it in griffons too. Sometimes you'll have one that's a little different, he or she doesn't have the same abilities of the others or shows a disinterest in something. That puts him off learning about his species and makes them different mentally as well as physically." Josh moved to speak but Voss stopped him.
"You said that every time he shifted he was mocked, laughed at, scorned, and humiliated, right? I've heard of people who were ridiculed so much because of the way they talked they actually stopped talking and became mute. What if the same is true for Bertram? What if, per say, he actually can use his wings but for some unknown reason, he still believes he can't?" Josh suddenly went wide eyed.
"That's impossible. His wing joints are fused, a result of the Convexity forces used when Malefor captured our mother during the Dalon Conflict. Ever since he first shifted all he's been able to do is rustle his wings, never fully extend them. A-Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Voss nodded.
"Indeed. It's quite possible that his psychological fears have been keeping him grounded. His wing joints may have been slow to develop but it's possible that over time they may have slackened or even opened up entirely. The best way to counter fear or anger is with joy or perhaps a sense of purpose. He has to have reasons other than revenge to continue fighting. Perhaps thoughts of Lady Flaire or...hmm...what do dragons do to inspire their young to fly?" Josh chuckled dryly.
"We shove our young off cliffs..." Josh then caught himself as he saw Anne's expression and amended himself.
"Well, normal dragons do. I learned how to fly by accident when I fell from the top floor in the library. George on the other hand, as well as Thera, was coached into the air by our grandfather Voltaris. Is it the same with griffons?" Voss nodded.
"Aye. The young are given the chance to flap on their own before the adult shoves them either out of the nest or off a very high ledge." Josh grimaced as he thought of something.
"He isn't going to shift willingly, much less try to move his wings. I try to do that, he'll probably fight me every step of the way." Wolff came forward, his eyes glowing.
"Well then, if he fights you, fight back. All things that need to be done are never easy. The hardest thing is to make sure he doesn't go too far into his depression..."
At that moment, the radar officer paled and turned in his seat.
"Captain! The enemy knows we're here! Enemy aircraft and small support ships inbound on several torpedo runs! This time these torpedo bombers have an escort!"
Dieter ran to the radar station and gasped when he saw the formation.
"That formation is called the 'Shield'. Fighters gather around the bombers in front, beside, behind, below and above. They can break off and engage yet still keep the bombers safe. There's only one man alive I know who can pull this formation off perfectly." Josh looked to him.
"Who?"
"Captain Hans Kronan, he was one of the first students I taught after the Incursion. He, Marks, Wolff, Voss, and Kiln were in the same flight class I taught. Unlike the others however, Kronan was naturally gifted. He graduated first in the class, was awarded the rank of Captain upon graduating, and also became an ace within the first few days of the war. He's the only pupil of mine I was not allowed to have as a squadron member. Because of his skills, command thought it a waste to assign him to me and instead gave him command of a group of underperforming recruits. The 11th Air Group is, besides my squadron, one of the best units in the RAAF. These men are all veterans trained by the best of my students, a man to whom I taught everything I know about aerial dogfighting, bomber escort and protection, and anti-ship combat."
At that moment, the radio crackled and a voice came through that no one but Dieter, Voss, and Wolff recognized.
"Mentor, are you there? If so, please answer. No one else knows I'm monitering the Syllian frequency. It's just you and me." Dieter walked to the radio.
"I'm here Hans. I take it this won't be a civil chat about old times." There was laughter.
"No, I'm afraid not. Likely you've already detected us, so what's the point of remaining quiet? I know that you will take off and face us to try and get to the bombers before they're within range of the fleet. What I want to know is your reason. Why did you leave Rotiart? Are you the least bit aware of what has happened since your defection became public knowledge?" Dieter paled, he'd known there would be repurcussions, but then again...
"What has happened?"
"Mechanos may be seemingly in control, but the people saw you as a hero, fighting for what was right. Mechanos first tried to say that you were dead and that this was a traitor bandying about your name. Then he said that you had tried to assassinate him and that you were a traitor. The...the families of those who knew you and spoke up for you have been arrested and sent to internment camps all along the Onyx Mountains. Those who resist, and there have been many, are shot without question or preamble. The nation may be whole on the surface, but your defection has cracked the underbelly of the nation. There have been riots, incidents, mass panics, open rebellion. Some soldiers have even mutinied against orders saying that they are dishonorable or unethical. Sir please, tell me why." Dieter sighed.
"I knew I'd have to explain myself but I didn't think you'd be my first audience. The fact is, Mechanos is insane. He's using technology to try and reestablish the old Empire, a nation that, though the history books say was brought down by Praetoria, it was actually brought down from the inside by people fed up with fighting wars they did not want, and dying for something they didn't believe was just or honorable. He's fighting for something but it isn't Rotiart. I...I don't know why he wants all out war. But if he crushes all who stand a chance against him, more will fall, more death will follow until this world is consumed by darkness. Like you yourself often said, 'Evil triumphs when good men do nothing'." He took a moment and then spoke again.
"That's when I decided. When I saw the after effects of that bombs dropped on Lavonshire, when I heard the bomber crew I escorted to the city railing off the targets they had hit and the projected casualties, when Mechanos pinned that damned medal on my chest and called me 'Hero'. What kind of hero ignores the kind of devastation that I witnessed? What kind of a man can condone the deaths of several hundred thousand, if not million, men, women, and children? If I did nothing, who is to say that my very own family might not have been next? What's stopping Mechanos from labelling a city in Rotiart like Gotha a 'rogue element' and sending Marks and his Butchers to terrorize it or, Heaven forbid, one of those bombers that carries the Ragnarok bombs?" Dieter stopped but heard nothing and then, in a desperate act.
"Hans...what would you have done in my place?"
...
...
...
"I'd have found another way. A way that didn't involve getting my family and the families of those who I taught, flew, and fought with arrested, branded as insurrectionists, and thrown into some godforsaken camp where they only have thin plywood houses to keep out the cold, one meal a day, and only a bucket to shit in. You said, each man has his reasons and yours are good ones, Mentor. But they are extreme, as if you have no hope that our homeland can still be saved. It...It pains me to go against you, but I am a soldier. And a soldier does their duty. Farewell, while you've been talking to me, I have increased speed and have guided the torpedo bombers to the extreme maximum range of their torpedoes." Dieter cursed as the radio went dead, then smiled grimly.
"Fell for my own tactic...I told you I taught him everything I knew." Josh turned to Anne.
"Sound battlestations, get the gunners to their posts, alert the fighters to man their planes and also start evasive maneuvers to avoid those torpedoes." Josh turned to Dieter.
"Bertram's still in his quarters. Should I let him fight or keep him out of it?" Dieter shrugged.
"I don't know. Sometimes it's best to let him do what he wants to do. Let him vent against foes who are not with the 666th. Work the anger out of his system. Or, instead, have him man an AA gun and act as a defender. Sometimes, defence works better than offense. Still though, if you let him fly, there's a risk he will not show mercy to the men up there. They may be Rotarian, but the men of the 11th Air Group are good men. Something that Rotiart will need many of when this all blows over. " Josh nodded and went about his work as Dieter left to get to his jet.
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Bertram heard the alarm blare. He heard the call to general quarters but for some reason he didn't feel right. Normally, he'd have all but ripped the door off its hinges to get into the air and fight. But now...
Gazing around, he saw that the last two jets were out of range and he eased back around. As he leveled, he glanced right and saw the tell-tale white parachute that marked Horos as he descended. He growled.
This time, it wasn't a simple angry growl. Like Josh had done before him, this growl was pure feral rage.
Bertram pushed the jet into a near backbreaking 8G turn and lined up his sights, his crosshairs on the parachute. He was seeing red. He was seeing Ayatane get ripped apart by Kiln and hearing him laugh while he did so. He saw Horos mutter a curse and draw his sidarm and start firing.
He lowered the crosshairs over Horos and squeezed the trigger.
...The bullets had all but shredded Horos as he flew past. Of the rounds the doomed man had fired, one ricocheted off the metal nose of the jet and the other had shot through the canopy, nicking Bertram's left ear, and went out the back. There was no blood, yet he couldn't get Horos' face out of his mind. How one minute the man was snarling defiance and the next, he was horrified as the first of several 20mm shells ripped his inards apart. They say that the eyes, heart, and brain function just long enough after death for one lasting, cohesive thought.
...What was Horos' last thought as he saw the lower half of his body fall away, leaving what was left of his diaphragm exposed to the cold air at sixteen thousand feet, his heart beating its last, his lungs expanding and contracting a few more times?
Then again, what meant the last thoughts of a dead man to the one who had killed him? Bertram had hunted before in dragon form. He reveled in it. The thrill of the hunt, the chase, the kill. All of it satisfied his predatory instinct. He admitted it to himself that he enjoyed flying because of what he would never be able to do. Flying completed him. Made him what he was inside, the ultimate creature, a dragon able to inspire many or make them cower.
If he wanted to, he could hijack a plane, fly to Rotiart, 'drop in' on Mechanos, and just as easily as his brother had ripped apart a ship of iron, he could rip apart a man of flesh...show the Rotarians what fools they had been to challenge a nation in which dragons called their home. Syllia was his nation, it's people his subjects. He would not condone such a trespass, he would not allow any more death and destruction at the hands of these vermin.
...
...
Bertram was interupted by the door opening. There stood his older brother, looking both concerned and frightened. His mind registered the look, his senses gave voice to the fear that eminated from him.
(That's the human side of him...weak...fearful...easily cowed...)
Then Josh straightened himself, all fear gone, and came forward.
"I had thought about allowing you to participate in the battle. No one from the 666th is there but we are under threat and Peninsula City is still threatened even though we haven't seen or heard a super sub approaching the city. You have been silent all this time and yet, all of a sudden, you start ranting and raving like a lunatic." Bertram snapped his eyes up in horror.
"I...I was saying all that?" Josh nodded his head.
"I was outside with the men guarding you all the while. I have to admit, these men are seasoned veterans yet they had to run to the portholes and hurl. Tell me, do you really want to do anything to avenge Ayatane? Are you willing to do anything, including perhaps corrupting your soul, destroying who you are, and hurting us, ALL of us, just for a fleeting moment of peace? What would Dad say? What would Mom say? Thera? George? Ignitus? What would Flaire say if she could see you now? See what you've become?" Bertram growled at his brother and rose.
"What the hell do YOU care? You're betrothed to a human woman! You're a dragon pretending to be human just like me, just like George, Mom, and Dad! Why are you allowing yourself to be restrained like this?! Together, you and I could go and end this threat once and for all!" Josh growled, his temper rising.
"And then what? Raze Rotiart to the ground so that it can never rise again? Then what? Revenge on Tellanos for all those years of depredations and wickedness against us? Will you go so far as to eliminate every single threat that eventually you yourself will turn upon your own people?! There is a reason we shapeshifters exist. That is to help guide both races to peace." Bertram growled.
"Peace is an illusion. There is only strength. The stronger you are, the less likely you are to be attacked because those who oppose you will fear you!"
"So will the people you're trying to protect! Fear is a double-edged sword Bertram! It may hurt your foes but it can also hurt you! If you give people reason enough to fear you, they will rise up and try to kill you!"
"Then I will crush them, wholeheartedly and mercilessly!"
"Then you are no better than Mechanos and his Butchers!"
"Better that than a simpering weakling who only wants what is impossible! Darkness is everywhere, Joshua. There is no denying that. This war may end but others will start! It is an endless cycle from which nothing is gained but everything is lost! You try your best to think of every possible solution, to think of every outcome, to plan for every eventuality but you can't! You can't save everyone! You try to save one person and that person's place another is taken! There is no end! Politicians use the term 'peace' but it is merely an interlude between two wars. I mean to actually make the term mean what is says!"Josh nodded as Bertram said that. He could see that tears had started to form as he got angrier.
"You're right. You can't save everyone. You are Bertram de Launces, ace pilot for the Royal Air Force. You are not a monster, you are not weak, you are not incapable. You can do anything you put your mind to. There will be other wars, that's simple human nature. But we can do our best to end this war." Bertram gazed at his brother, a moment of clarity in his eyes.
"You're right, brother...We can end this war..." Then the clarity faded, giving Josh only a moment's notice before Bertram bumrushed right by him, knocking him into the hatch and making him see stars. As he rose, he heard Bertram calling out.
"Better yet, I can end this war, right now! All I have to do is head for Rotiart, and kill any Rotarian soldiers who get in my way!" Josh paled in sudden realization.
"Oh no...he's lost it!"
Jumping up and shouting for the MPs, Josh took off up the hatch to the flight deck after his brother.
On the flight deck, alarms were blaring as Josh rose and then gazed at Bertram calmly walking towards the side of the ship, shifting to dragon form. Josh stopped the MPs and ran after him, shifting as he went.
Bertram stopped at the edge of the deck, overlooking the sea with Peninsula City in the distance. Josh stopped behind him, fully shifted.
"What are you going to do brother? You can't swim as well as I can in that form and you can't fly, so what are you going to do? There is a way to end the war but it takes time. We cannot simply march up to Mechanos and tell him to end the war." Bertram made an odd noise, a cross between a growl and harrumph.
"You are afraid. Afraid of what Mechanos could do, of what his forces could do, if they caught me...That fear...is what makes you weak; what has made ME weak...NO longer. Fear is the chain that has kept me grounded. I no longer fear what may come, and as such, my chains are broken. I. Am. Free."
To Josh's amazement, Bertram started unfurling his wings, the joints creaking and groaning so loudly he thought they would break and snap him back to reality. Then, with a flourish, Bertram flared his wings as far as they could go and then leapt from the ship. Josh, panicked, ran to the side only for Bertram to sail straight up past him, roaring triumphantly. Josh momentarily felt glad for his brother until he saw him turn west.
Towards Rotiart.
Cursing, Josh leapt into a takeoff and followed Bertram. The words Wolff said coming back to him.
(Sometimes, you have to fight them to make yourself heard...)
Then, he saw water starting to whitecap in the distance, out of range of all the ships except for the battlecruisers and the battleship, came a conning tower and the profile of the largest submarine he had ever seen. It was easily longer than the Leviathan and had a strange structure running along the midlength of the deck. He then saw hatches open and strange looking weapons rise from within the vessel. Realization hit him like a hammer blow.
"The Gigantic...and we're flying right towards it..."
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To be continued...
Next Chapter: Brother Against Brother