Nothing much to say in the foreword. Too tired...
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.
Chapter 67: A Conference Across Continents
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James knew enough to keep his emotions in check as he was escorted by Stiger from Mechanos' tower to his quarters in Facility 3. Thankfully, he was given his privacy but outside the door were four guards Mechanos had assigned to him for 'protection'. Still, despite the tension after the meeting, James was able to watch the last few moments of sunset before turning off the lights in his room and going to bed. Still though, he felt something was off and started glancing about the room. After a few moments of quietly searching (i.e. using his mana tp follow trace electrical signals), he found listening devices, bugs, strewn throughout the room in several places.
The first he found was behind a paining of, what else, Mechanos standing before a warship, likely a Tyrann-class battlecruiser, as it slid into the water with a shattered champagne bottle in his hand. Another was found in the lamp by his bed, a third by his chair, a fourth in the shower. Another was hidden in the recess of an inkwell on the desk, and another actually hidden in the fountain pen itself. The last however, was a bit difficult to imagine, but also ridiculous to do so as well. Then again, hiding a bug in the water tank of the toilet wasn't the smartest of ideas.
At least the Rotarians were... inventive. But they had failed in one department. No one had bothered to search James. If they had, they would have found the stash of blue crystals in his coat that he kept in case of an emergency.
Not that they would have known what they were without an intimate knowledge of the arcane. Then again, most humans, when seeing something shiny and crystaline in structure, would assume it's a gem stone and try to abscond with it. It was one way, James thought, that humans were like magpies in a way, always going after things that glittered and sparkled.
Gingerly, James removed one of the gems, went to bed, and channeled a little mana to the gem. In a flash, the room around him melted and he was standing, as before, on a hill overlooking an incomplete Warfang. Just as he turned however, he heard a roar and saw a shape plunging out of the sky. He had just enough warning to jump t the side and shift before the shape landed on him. As his vision became stable, he gazed up at Malefor who was highly irate.
"Just what in the Ancestor's names did you think you were doing?! Half the spirit world and most of the real world is up in arms over this stunt you pulled! Letting yourself get captured, if you weren't my own flesh and blood, I'd throttle you here and now!" James waited for Malefor to finish before sighing.
"I know it was reckless but I had no other alternative. What I've learned here means that our previous timetable must be completely thrown out the window. Can you contact Lysa and the others for me?" Malefor nodded.
"Already done as soon as you pulled a spirit gem out of your coat. Lysa and Thera are scrambling to find their's. Josh, Bertram, and George are almost ready." A moment later, a large flash erupted and James found himself in a near deathgrip from his mate as he embraced him tightly, screaming at him for being such a fool. After relenting in her embrace for a moment, James nodded to her to step away for a moment. His sons, his daughter, his mate, his ancestors, his grandchildren, they all stood before him.
"Lysa. All our previous plans have to be scrapped." Lysa looked to James curiously.
"Why love? And why are you pale as a sheet?" Josh nodded.
"Indeed Dad, you look like you've seen a ghost... er... sorry Grandfather." James glanced to Malefor and then to his wife.
"You're not far off Josh... Mechanos... he's built his last bastion on Black Sand Island, a small volcanic island just off the coast of Rotiart. If that wasn't enough, he's been using parts salvaged from the wreckage of Dalon's fortress, Poseidon, to build it. Plus... that's not all..." James took a deep breath to glance at Malefor and Lysa before continuing.
"The Poseidon isn't the only blast from the past... He's back... Dalon... He's alive." Lysa's jaw dropped, as did Malefor's. George looked to his Father, eyes stern.
"Dad, are you sure?" James nodded.
"His face and body may have changed with time and scarring but, those eyes... I'll never forget those eyes... Somehow, Mechanos must have saved his life and, according to Stiger, the spy I'm working with, Mechanos made Dalon into an Automan. Only this time, he did something different. Created an Automan that retains its faculties. Dalon has been reanimated through the use of a black gem and his body is sustained through machinery grafted into what remains of his original body." Malefor growled angrily.
"Blast it. It was my fault you know? I used my influence from my prison to slowly corrupt Dalon. If I hadn't..." James shook his head.
"Don't blame yourself. Dalon was already long past the point of sanity when he encountered you. His tactics and actions in the Federation War proved as much. Him being removed from his position and stripped of his rank, if not the tipping point, was just the rock tying itself to an already drowning man. Still, despite his being a foe, no one deserves to go through what he is currently enduring." Malefor nodded in agreement and James turned back to Lysa.
"What I can't figure out is what Stiger said. He said that not all of the experts Mechanos has imprisoned here are cooperative. There are some who, given the chance, would likely sacrifice themselves to stop his plans. Stiger included Dalon in that list." Malefor coughed and shook his head.
"Impossible. An Automan is like any other undead. Completely obedient to their master. Trust me, I know." James looked to Malefor then rubbed his index finger on his chin, pondering something..
"Still though, what would make an Automan or an undead turn on its master? If there was such a way?" Malefor thought for a moment and nodded.
"There is a way but it entails the dark arts. It is possible for one necromancer to wrest control of another's undead hordes from him. I also did that several times when I was evil. The process should be similar for commandeering control of an Automan. If someone has done that though, he likely has control of Dalon like one would have a puppet on a string. Dalon will dance to Mechanos' tune a bit longer before whoever or whatever controls him now will decide to change the music. Once that happens, as you humans say, 'all bets are off'." He sighed.
"In the end there is no way of us knowing who or what is currently Dalon's puppeteer. It may be an experienced necromancer from another land or it could be a worse foe than Mechanos." James nodded to him but then felt uneasy.
"I also saw a glimpse of Mechanos' weapons factory. He's building scores more weapons and ammunition than he has soldiers under his command. Everything from pistols to rifles to machineguns and even bazookas. There is also something else. The island, Mechanos has something called the CCC which, if I'm to hazzard a guess based on what I've overheard, can artificially control weather." James glanced to Bertram and Josh in particular.
"The CCC has made the weather on and around the island foggy almost on an around the clock basis. It's so thick that any attackers wouldn't be able to see three feet in front of them. This makes an aerial and naval assault problematic and apparently you need a special passcode to gain access to the CCC facilities." James glanced to Lysa and sighed.
"We may need to divert a small force to skip the fighting in Rotiart, if there is any, and focus on making a landing operation on Black Sand Island. If that is not possible, then I am giving permission to use the Thunderer Project."
Lysa gasped in horror. Thunderer was the codename for the reverse-engineered atomic weapons program. At present, there was only one bomb but it was powerful enough to obliterate an island half Black Sand Island's size. She shook her head, denying the option.
"James, trust us to figure out something. Don't go abandoning all hope yet." James chuckled weakly.
"'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here'... The Divine Comedy... I feel as if I may have just willingly walked through the gates of the Abyss to dance a jig for whatever demons Mechanos has stewing in this place. If there are anymore Automen like Dalon or even if there are some of the old Automen, any battle fought here will be costly and bloody. If I must sacrifice myself to save the lives of who knows how many thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, I would consider it a worthy sacrifice." Lysa started to object but James raised a foreclaw, his face set. He turned to his children.
"Black Sand Island is a fortress unlike any other I have ever seen. Of all the structures on the island, only ten percent, maybe, are on the surface. The rest are all underground, connected by a huge network of steel, concrete, and rebar reinforced tunnels large enough that one could drive eight Marmota-class tanks side by side down the road and still have room for the rank and file to march by." George gaped at that bit of intel but remained silent as James continued.
"There are checkpoints every two miles and at every branching point. With the airport, only the runway and and the two six floors of the control tower are above ground, the hangars, fuel storage and other facilities are under a four-foot thick slab of steel that serves as the roof. This makes it immune to aerial bombardment and has a series of lifts that can raise up and launch roughly twenty fighters per run." Josh sighed and glanced to his Father.
"What about naval strength?" James nodded.
"Stiger gave me some idea of what to expect. The largest concentration is to the south of the island where the naval facilities are located. There are eight Titan III-class battleships, six Titan II and Titan I-class battleships, around a dozen Tyrann-class battlecruisers, and several dozen vessels of various light cruiser, heavy destroyer, and destroy-escort classes. There are also submarines ranging from two person midget subs, ten crew patrol subs, eighteen crew interceptor subs, larger combat subs, and the last of the Gigantic-class super subs. He even has a few he supposedly build for Damoneni called a 'missile sub'."
"Furthermore, there are shore batteries along the south, east, and west sides of the island. All cannons are at least nine-inch diameter and are specially modified with prototype hydraulic loading systems. Reduces the required crew from ten to four and boosts the rate of fire from these cannons from three rounds per minute to ten in practice conditions but the crews are veterans and are believed to be able to fire fourteen rounds per minute." Josh grimaced, quickly adding up the numbers in his head.
"Puts a whole new meaning to the phrase 'making it rain'." James nodded.
"To date, no active battleships we have would be able to withstand that kind of punishment for any period of time. Therefore, Lysa, instruct the shipyards at Eastport and Grand Bay to finish up whatever touches are needed for the Maelstrom-class battleships and deploy them. Josh, the time has come to make it official. My son, I am promoting you to Admiral, and giving you permanent command of the Fifth Fleet and am assigning the seven Maelstrom battleships to your command." Josh stood dumbfounded as Bertram, Thera, and George congradulated him. James gave them a moment and then turned to George.
"George, what I'm going to ask of you is difficult but I need you and the forces attatched to the army you're with to score a crushing victory against Mechanos' forces. It needs to be a victory of such complete and utter success that he will have to focus all his efforts on that part of the line, leaving him blind to any other theatres of war." George glanced to his Mother and siblings and then nodded.
"I've already made plans to link up with the Federation Sixth Armored. They are currently readying to spearhead an assault through occupied territory and head towards the weak spot in the rear we identified as the city of Gotha, the home of the Rotarian Air Force." James nodded, understanding what he was saying and then turned to Bertram.
"Bertram. As I said, an aerial attack will be difficult but not impossible. I want your force mobilized along with every fighter, bomber, gunship, and transport we have. We will save the Thunderer Project as a last result. I will work from the ground, try and get the access code to the CCC and shut it down from the inside. Once it's down, launch a massive aerial strike against the shore batteries and naval forces." James returned his gaze to Josh.
"While Bertram is raising hell from the air, Josh, try and maneuver your fleet, if possible, to the undefended north side of the island. From there, you can assault the airfield, as well as do considerable damage to some of Mechanos' structures and factories." James took a moment to glance to Lysa.
"Once the enemy is in disarray, the ground forces on the LSTs will launch and troops from the transports will parachute onto the island from above. If we can make this succeed, it will be the last battle of the war." James suddenly felt the spiritual connection shiver, a sign that someone was wanting to talk to someone in the group. He embraced Lysa once more.
"I'll stay safe. I promise. We will end this war and return home, together."
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James awoke to find Stiger sitting next to his bed, a concerned expression on his face.
"Are you feeling well, Your Majesty? Should I send for a doctor?" James shook his head. He quickly put away the blue crystal although he detected Stiger glancing at it before reverting his gaze back to him.
"No need. What time is it?" Stiger checked his watch.
"It is seven in the morning. All things considered, I hope you got a restful night's sleep." James gave a small nod. Stiger returned the nod.
"I have been assigned as your escort around the base. Mechanos believes he is rewarding me for my efforts to capture you. I am to take you to the R&D building under Facility 3. Besides asset housing, this place is also a laboratory for research." James snorted.
"Mechanos has broken the cardinal rule: never work where you sleep." Stiger chuckled.
"I know, the first time I was here some oaf tried to create a type of poison gas to use as a deterrant. Instead he created the mother of all stink bombs. Took maintenance an entire month to clear the smell from the building. On the upside, after the incident, Mechanos had compartments installed and special air filters placed to prevent such inconveniences from happening again." James glanced to him.
"What happened to the oaf?" Stiger chuckled.
"Bastard tried again, he succeeded but forgot to seal the lab properly. He along with three others died. Mechanos abandoned poison gas projects shortly after that." James blinked in surprise.
"So even Mechanos isn't completely crazy." Stiger shook his head.
"No, he's crazy alright. He just discontinued the experiments because he figured that nuclear weapons had more of an effect than a gas cloud. There's a scientist named Gordon Waitz, who's an expert in the field of nuclear technology. He has devised a way to scale down a nuclear weapon until it's the size of a bazooka, man-portable. He's also figured out how to use nuclear material in artillery shells, flak shells, and other high caliber explosives." James gave him a 'surely you're jesting' look and Stiger again shook his head.
"I know what you're thinking but yes, it's true, and almost every cannon, anti-air flak gun, and even a few heavy tanks are equipped with a few of these new weapons of mass destruction. Mind you, they're not as powerful as a real bomb but, a flak round from one of those cannons could potentially obliterate an entire squadron of fighters or even bombers. And even one of your Marmota tanks wouldn't be able to survive a direct hit from one of those atomic shells." James gritted his teeth in frustration.
"Mechanos has essentially rendered advancements such as weapon caliber and armor thickness null and void. A light, high speed tank with a forty millimeter cannon would be able to stop an entire assault force. What about the naval shells?" Stiger nodded.
"There we have a small bit of luck. Mechanos is hurting, desperately, for more atomic material. Uranium is too difficult to find and ship and the more advanced Plutonium is impossible to produce in great quantities. It's a balancing game for him." Stiger placed a hand on his chin to think for a moment.
"I would estimate that, perhaps, the naval guns only have, at the most, three shells per cannon, and that's for every four emplacements. The tanks would likely only be equipped with five of these rounds, and likely only assigned to veteran or elite gunners and crews. The flak guns have a mixed ammo drum, every tenth round is an atomic shell, the rest are standard, tracer, or incendiary." James sighed.
"Still bad news for that one-in-a-million chance. Stiger, how old are you?" Stiger glanced to James and shrugged.
"I'm almost thirty-six. Why do you ask?"
"I've seen a lot of war in my life. No matter where on the field you are, that one chance is all the enemy needs to kill you. Sometimes it's a matter of luck, others it's pure skill or lack thereof. I've seen the probable and the improbable. I once saw a bullet richochet of a soldier's helmet and strike an officer in the throat. I've seen artillery shells falling from hastily aimed guns land on top of single individuals and obliterate their bodies." James sighed.
"Hell, once I actually tripped over my own two feet, fired the weapon in my hand, and a moment later a large bronze banded goose crashed in front of me. What I'm saying is that as long as there's a chance something will happen, it will." Stiger nodded.
"Indeed. As that old quip goes: 'Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.' James nodded.
"By the way, now that we're out of earshot and I'm fairly certain that Mechanos has not bugged the halls, I need to ask. What's the situation in Rotiart itself?" Stiger sighed.
"It's... Well, for a lack of words that do it justice, a hot mess. Riots in the streets, soldiers going AWOL, deserting, or just failing to report for duty. The Griffon Corps' defection has made all the towns close to the nests suspect for treason and sedition. As a result, dread griffons constantly fly the sky, plucking up anyone suspected of having treasonous or seditious intent. There's even a corps of loyalists called the Rotiart First, or RF, that is openly executing anyone saying that we should sue for peace, surrender, or thinking of defecting to the Syllian forces." His gaze dropped to the floor.
"There have already been over two-hundred public executions. Three of those were mass executions. The RF just lined up the people along a trench and turned their machineguns on them. They are also starting a new type of warfare, training children to use weapons like grenades, rocket launchers, pistols, how to set bombs, even flamethrowers. They use terror as a weapon. It's made worse that every member of the RF wears a metal plate over his gas mask every time he patrols. Gives them the illusion they are faceless, soulless, monsters." James nodded his sympathy.
"The people want peace. They want their loved ones back home but their leader refuses to abandon his ship. Such thinking has been the downfall of many a military leader and a politician, both in war and peace, for good, and evil." Stiger nodded.
"There is a rumor that the remaining RAAF pilots, mostly recruits and a few Incursion veterans, have mutinied and have declared the city of Gotha a free city for anyone wishing to put the war behind them. If the Syllians have a plan to liberate Gotha, it would be a welocme relief to the people. If Mechanos puts any stock in rumors, and I fear he does, Gotha will soon be in his crosshairs for a retaliatory strike for their treason, real or imagined." James slowed his pace as Stiger's words clicked into place.
"Any idea how long it may take for him to ready such a strike?" Stiger shrugged.
"No idea; but if I did have an inkling as to when he was planning such an attack, I would say perhaps sometime next week at the latest. You know, I happened to catch a glimpse of a report in Mechanos' field office that stated that the 121st Armored Corps is asking for reinforcements along the Tsessarevitch Highway. Apparently they are spread so thin there that an attack of any size or magnitude would potentially shatter the front line and give the force a clear shot to the Rotarian border, and Gotha." James gave a small smile and nodded.
"'No matter the size of the wall, a single crack can be its destruction'." Stiger nodded.
"Who said that, sir?" James chuckled.
"One of my ancestors, Albeir de Launces. He was a heavy Dragoon in the Dracocorps during a war some three-hundred years ago. Went into battle with a halberd, full plate armor, astride a monsterous earth dragon named Everest. They fought against Emperor Chi-Sang's Third Imperial Legion at the Battle of the Valley Lao. The Emperor had built a massive wall that spanned the valley and completely encircled the capital city of the Tai-Lang Empire." Stiger glanced at him in amazement.
"Using his halberd, as well as Everest's earth magic, Albeir created a rift in the wall large enough that the wall collapsed under its own weight, killing the men garrisoned there to a man, and allowed the rebel forces under the command of Prince Kai-Sung to storm the capital, kill Chi-Sang, and overthrow his corrupt government. Up until about eighty years ago, Syllia and the Tai-Lang Empire have been close allies but recent relations have been rather... frigid of late." Stiger chuckled.
"You sure have a lot of tales about your family Your Majesty." James nodded.
"Indeed. If what I knew could fill a book, I would have a tome twice the size of Ecklehart's Treatice of Rhein and almost as thick as Cambrei's Complete History of the Holy Praetorian Empire. It would take me at least a century to write down all I know of my ancestor's heroics." Stiger nodded.
"Well, as a dragon, I assume you have nothing but time, right?" James chuckled but then sighed and shook his head.
"I may be a dragon, but don't forget I'm only half dragon. My mother was a human. I may have a longer life span than most humans, I may well live to see one-hundred fifty or perhaps a second century, if I focus on keeping my body healthy for the rest of my days; but I'll never reach the five, six, seven-hundred year or a thousand year life spans of some dragons. I am mortal, and my time is fleeting." James gazed at the floor and then out a window overlooking the fog-shrouded island.
"My wife, my children, my grandchildren, they will outlive me by centuries. They will still be alive when my bones have long since turned to dust and I am but a figure in the history books. A person spoken of by teachers to wide-eyed school children. At least as a dragon, I will be able to speak with my descendants, so long as they do not forsake and abandon their heritage." James glanced to Stiger.
"What about you? Any family?" Stiger shook his head.
"No. My Dad was a drunken soldier on a weekend liberty and my Mom a lady of the evening at a run-down, dimly-lit tavern somewhere in the ass-end of the country. He was gone by the next day, and as soon as I was born, she left me with priests who rasied me, taught me several skills that I still employ as a spy. Later did a little digging to find them. Mom was stabbed by an angry client who claimed he had caught some kind of sickness from her. Dad was killed in some far off battle in Land's End. Some place called Lemming Point." James nodded that he had heard of that battle.
In 1901, the Land's End 3rd Militia had mutinied against the provisional government. Mercenaries from all corners of the world, even Syllia, had joined the Rebel Militia seeking fortune but more had seen the right of the provisional government and had joined with the opposite side. The Faulkson Rebellion, as it came to be known, ended with a series of battles at three hills: Breed Hill, Boxer Hill, and Caulker Hill, each one a crushing defeat for the rebels. The 3rd Militia were shattered, almost 80% of their forces killed or taken prisoner.
The leaders of the Rebellion, and those remaining loyal to them, threw themselves off Lemming Point, choosing to die rather than surrender and be taken prisoner.
As James continued walking alongside Stiger to the R&D facility, he began to wonder, and worry, that his plan wasn't enough. There is no such thing as a riskless victory, but, there were still too many things that could go wrong.
Somewhere, in Tellanos, his eldest son was at that very moment, charging into the weak spot that Stiger had told him of. Whether that weak spot would remain weak, or if it was a trap, he had no way of knowing.