DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.
Chapter 73: Checkmate, Pt. 2
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(over the Rotarian capital, Shadowfell, at the same time as when the naval operation stalled)
[...]
Another massive explosion flared to life as yet another shell exploded in mid air. Bertram was both perplexed and impressed by the ingenuity of the Loyalists as he flew over the source of the large caliber AA shell, a hopelessly beached Titan III-class battleship that had wedged itself on the sandbar just west of the city proper and then had been anchored on the sanbar by numerous shallow draft vessels.
The battleship was listing in the soft sand at a precarious twenty-five degree angle to starboard and all its guns were rotated to the port so that they could fire from any angle from ten degrees to sixty.
Still, it was only one ship and, despite the blistering AAA fire it was putting up, wasn't doing any major damage. It was almost as if the entire idea had been half-assed and the crew on the ship weren't even fully trained on the weapons they were manning.
That didn't mean there was no danger, as just seconds ago a fighter had gotten careless and flew right into a cloud of flak and got shredded coming out and before that one of the new bombers caught a direct hit from the battleship's 8in secondary guns and was ripped in half.
To say it was annoying was an understatement.
"This is Jackpot Lead to all bombers, anyone object if we knock that bruiser out of commission? The flak it's putting up is rattling my copilot's teeth out of his skull."
"Hartwig here, Jackpot stay in formation. Royalist forces from the Third Marines are launching from Shadowfell Harbor and will board the ship. Intel reports it has a skeleton crew of about one hundred, no more, no less. We need damn near every bomber here to breach the island's defences."
"Paladin here, wasn't the same thing said when we were trying to retake Lenninosk in Tellanos? Only a hundred enemy troops but the wreckage and rubble was playing hell with our advance guard. Who's to say that battleship doesn't have snipers sitting on the crow's nest?"
"This is Phantom, I can vouch for that." Bertram froze as the name clicked in his mind and, remembering the reports he'd read the day before, keyed his radio again.
"Phantom? As in the Resistance sniper who's been giving Mechanos' troops absolute hell for the past month?"
"The one and the same. I'm perched in the southwest tower of the old castle with a clear view of the beached warship. I'll be covering the assault troops from here. Just gotta say, I'm damn glad I finally managed to get my hands on one of these Syllian 'Avalanche' Rifles. Hold on..." There was a loud report through the radio and then a sigh.
"Nailed another one. That makes eighteen kills on this ship alone. Idiots have got to be all rookies, they keep trying to get to the observation bridge. Completely exposed, not even a fair fight." Bertram frowned and then nodded, reassuring himself.
"Paladin to all aircraft, we have our orders from General Hartwig, bypass the ship, continue to Black Sand Island."
"Attention all aircraft, this is Sighthound. Radar has picked up multiple aircraft deploying from Black Sand Island and are en route to Shadowfell. Looks like fighter-interceptors, most likely the new R-types."
"They probably detected this huge formation of bombers. All fighters get ready to intercept. Bombers, be on the lookout for those guided rockets they used back over Gotha. Sighthound, what's their E.T.A.?"
"Hostiles are seven minutes out and closing fast. I'd recommend those escorts with jets of their own get on the ball and intercept the interceptors."
"Hartwig here, as we're all aware these bombers aren't exactly maneuverable. Against those super accurate rockets, we're fish in a barrel. Propellor planes will remain as rear guard, all jets are ordered to break formation and intercept." Bertram nodded and then tapped his throttle.
"Paladin to all jet interceptors, push throttles to full power. Let's turn the hunters into the hunted."
All the jet fighters acknowledged the order and with a deafening roar they shot forward to intercept the aircraft.
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(over the Kultaro Strait, between Rotarian mainland and Black Sand Island)
...
Marks watched his air speed indicator carefully for any sort of error that might arise while flying at intercept velocity. The Type-R proved itself over the skies of Gotha but not to the extent that Mechanos (or any of the remaining pilots loyal to him) would have liked. Still, with the capture of James de Launces, and the death of Dieter Muntz, Marks was no longer in Mechanos' doghouse and was back to the top of the list.
His aircraft, the prototype Type-R II, was a modified version of the original aircraft. Utilizing many experimental technologies such as swept-back wings, turbocharged jet compressor, prototype electronics and avionics, digital readouts and displays, even a newer fuel mixture chemically formulated to boost performance and become an aerosol easier. The one gripe Marks had was the weapons.
In making the aircraft, it had been stripped of all weapons with the exception of two 30mm cannons housed in the wing roots and the rest of the weapons were the new guided rockets. His aircraft carried eighteen of them while the older Type-Rs carried only six.
Okay, he did have a second gripe... each rocket was a basically a ten pound bomb locked under his wings. The Type-R II wasn't an interceptor, or even a fighter. It was, as one designer put it, 'the way of the future'. Mechanos had called it a 'Multipurpose Aerial Dominance' aircraft or 'Multirole'. To Marks, it was MAD (the crazy interpretation). Hence the reason for the swept back wings, different fuel and newer engine in an attempt to regain some of the maneuverability and speed lost with the additional weight of the rockets.
Despite Mechanos' blueprints and the engineers assurances, Marks discovered during the test flight the fully armed aircraft only regained fifteen percent of the advantages lost meaning that aerodynamically, the Type-R II was inferior to its predecessor and indeed inferior to even the predecessor of that aircraft. As he checked his displays again, his radio came to life with the voice of the radar operator on the Facility.
"All airborne fighters we have a confirmed mass of enemy aircraft approaching the island. Medium and Heavy bombers confirmed as well as what looks to be troop transports and jet fighter escorts. Brigadier-General Marks, you have the command." Marks nodded to himself and then keyed his radio.
"Most likely the enemy bombers equipped with Radar have detected us by now and have sent their jets ahead to intercept us. We shall do likewise, all jets accelerate to intercept speed and engage the enemy jets, propellor planes remain as rear guard and pick off the bombers and their escorts as they fly on. Island Command, recommend you go on high alert and ready all anti-air countermeasures. They outnumber us so there's a high chance some may slip past us."
"Island copies, just make sure you splash as many as possible, we're having hydraulic failures of some kind and the defences aren't going up." Marks looked straight forward and then back to the island.
"Hydraulic failures?!"
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(Black Sand Island, Maintenance Tunnel MT-55-103F, somewhere between Facility Nos. 1&10)
James couldn't help but smile as the plan worked. Despite all the security features and all the machines, piping, wiring, and everything else, he just happened to find a section of facility that was unguarded and, with some quick impromptu explosive chemistry courtesy of Dr. Harold Ryzen (one of the less than loyal scientists Mechanos had pressganged into making his machines), hydraulic fluid that was being used to raise and lower the AA defence platforms on the eastern side of the island was gushing out of the badly damaged pipes. James turned a grin to the good doctor and nodded to the work done.
"I have to say I hadn't thought about using thermite here." Dr. Ryzen nodded and held a small bag of thermite powder in his hand.
"Naturally Mechanos tried to clean the place up as best he could but as you said this facility had been rusting at the bottom of the ocean for nearly two decades. Plus the island is abundantly rich in aluminum so getting iron oxide and aluminum powder is an easy feat. The trick is getting the mixture right so you don't set yourself on fire."
"Speaking from experience?" Ryzen chuckled.
"Had a close call or three but in the end they never figured out what I was doing. No one really questioned it since I work in munitions. They probably thought I was building a bomb."
"Uh... you were building a bomb."
"Yes, but not the type you drop from an aircraft but rather one you detonate for the purpose of sabotage."
As James was about to agree with him, another of their compatriots, Prof. Albert Dornier, arrived with some weapons.
"I managed to snatch these from the assembly lines. Now we can get to the hangar bay and stop them." James' expression changed to curiousity and seeing that Dornier explained.
"Mechanos has ordered them into the air to attack the naval forces heading our way. New aircraft I designed." Dornier added the last seeing James' puzzled expression. Ryzen gasped.
"The Do-287s?! I thought you said they were inoperable!" Dornier gave an exasperated sigh and nodded.
"They were but that fool assistant of mine noticed the 'mistakes' I made on the blueprints and diagnostic sheets and corrected them. They're being loaded with the modified V1 bombs now!" James looked between Dornier and Ryzen and then back to the aircraft designer.
"What's the Do-287?" Dornier gave James a look of dispair.
"It was to be my masterpiece. The world's first jet-propelled airliner. Swept-back wings, digital and electronic systems and displays, four jet engines, two under the wing roots, two more fitted to the fuselage just before the tail assembly, and capable of carrying sixty passengers, double what the propellor driven PPT-65M passenger liner can carry, at double the speed, double the distance." His face clouded and took on a venomous frown.
"Mechanos crunched the numbers and decided that instead of sixty passengers, it could carry one of his damn V1 rocket bombs that he's modified to be dropped from aircraft or a company's worth or paratroops. He's turned my passenger liner into an intercontinental bomber/ troop transport. The 287 was to be my legacy. Now it's my failure." James sighed.
"It still has the potential to be your legacy. We just need to stop Mechanos' plan before it takes off... Wait a minute... You said they can carry sixty people?" Dornier nodded and James smiled.
"Hand these weapons out to everyone that you know is against Mechanos and head to the hangar, it'll be a bumpy ride but I think if we can steal one of them that's been retooled for troop transports, we can escape and then the combined forces of all our respective nations can obliterate this island." Dornier nodded, then sighed.
"We'll need a pilot then. What? I just design them, never fly them... I'm afraid of heights..." James gave him a deadpan expression.
"Well, get ready because you're about to overcome them as soon as we get our hands on one." Another sigh from Dornier.
"I was afraid you'd say that."
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(Over the channel)
...
The report of gunfire was near deafening inside the aluminum fuselage of the bomber as it continued along its flight. Hartwig was silently cursing the fool who thought this part of the plan up as he watched tracers from the formation rip through the clouds, seeking to shoot down the interceptors who were trying to shoot them down. His silent swearing turned into full blown cursing when one of the Rotarian plane-launched rockets detonated prematurely mere moments before impacting the left wing.
"What bloody idiot came up with this idea?!" Hartwig's co-pilot looked to Hartwig and smiled.
"All due respect General, it was you who suggested and pushed for this plan." Hartwig forced a smile and pulled on the stick, lifting the bomber up a little bit to an even 37,000 feet.
"My point exactly. I'm an idiot. I just realized exactly how many of my crews I could get killed doing this." The co-pilot nodded.
"All part of the job, sir. No man or woman among us joined up believing we'd be kept perfectly safe. We knew the risks, and accepted them. You've led us into danger time and time again General, and time and again you've brought us home to our families."
The plane's intercom crackled as someone keyed their radio.
"Joe's right, sir. I mean we all have our reasons for joining up when we did. We never held the illusion we'd be safe all the time. I joined because my parents lived in Sanijo and were there when the Rotarians bombed the city."
"They survive? Where are they now Felix?"
"They did, and my wife insisted they move in with her and the kids. Ma and Pa always said they wanted to spend more time spoiling their grandkids. Now they get the chance to do so." Hartwig chuckled.
"God help you when you get back. If grandparents are best at anything, it's spoiling their grandkids."
"Heh, already discovered that particular joy. Hey, how about the rest of you guys? What'd you enlist for? Davy?"
"My brother was on the cruiser Callahan when they were ambushed. He didn't make it, and I felt I had to join up. I have two younger brothers who went to war with me, one's with the Navy Sub Corps on board the Pioneer which is intercepting shipping to and from the island, the other is with the Marines who will be storming the beach." Hartwig nodded.
"Your brother was one of the first casualties of the war, and now your family stands ready to end it."
"Funny thing, Jack enlisted because he felt that someone from the family should serve, despite our Father's objections. His death changed Father's mind and he said to not serve would be the closest thing to disrespecting our brother's sacrifice as possible. Hey Ben, how about you?"
"My dad was one of the pilots who fought in the Southlands War. My brother was with the 435th heading for Ursa and was captured by the Rotarians at the start of the war. I was able to see him before we took off when the transport carrying liberated POWs landed. I figure I owe those Loyalist bastards for the hell they put him through. Roy, you're next."
"Not much to say, I just like aircraft. Max?"
There was a report of gunfire for a moment and then the radio keyed.
"I get to shoot a big damn gun, 'nuff said. Shit! Taylor, one's comin' up at you from the deck! Shoot that bastard!"
"I got him!" Gunfire echoed through the aircraft and the whine of a falling plane going just over the bomber made Hartwig instinctively duck.
"That bastard had blue eyes! I swear they're getting either bolder or more desperate."
"Probably a bit of both. An animal is most dangerous when cornered. Be careful they don't crash into us or it's curtains for all of us."
More gunfire erupted from the gunnery positions in the bomber as more enemy planes closed in on the formation. Despite this, Hartwig kept his heading and remained alert for any enemy coming for the cockpit. More gunfire, this time from outside the aircraft, followed by a slew of curse words over the radio from one of the gunners and an alarm suddenly began blaring from the center console. Almost simultaneously, a red light on the engine display lit up, the rpms and oil pressure for the affected engine dropped to zero and the indicated air speed also started going down slightly. The copilot was first to react.
"Fire in engine five! What the hell just happened?!"
"Top gunner reporting, we've been hit by friendly fire! Rounds from Breaking Headlines missed their mark and punched our outboard port side engine full of holes! I can see oil and flames coming from the cowling!" Hartwig cursed and pushed the emergency kill switch for the damaged engine while his co-pilot pulled the fire extinguisher. Outside, white smoke from the CO2 extinguishers billowed from the down engine and the large four-bladed propellor slowly ground to a halt, then started spinning slightly due to the aircraft wind speed.
"We've lost one engine and power is down by fifteen percent. If we don't want to fall behind, we'll have to activate the superchargers for the inner engines. We'll burn more fuel but on the bright side we have an airport in Shadowfell. By the way, remind me to kick the ass of whoever shot us."
Gunfire again erupted from outside followed by an explosion that shook the bomber.
"General, you're going to have to cancel that ass kicking. Enemy plane fired a rocket that just took the entire tail assembly off Breaking Headlines. They're going down." Hartwig paled and said a quick prayer. His co-pilot keyed the radio.
"Max? Any chutes?"
"Confirmed. I count... two from the front and... no, wait... shit... Yeah, three good chutes from the front section. The bombadier, radio operator and copilot. Three out of twelve-" A burst of static interrupted him as a frantic voice blew through the radio.
"Holy fuck!" Hartwig recognized it as the voice of one of the top gunners and, unable to turn back and look, keyed his radio.
"Ben? Ben what's wrong? Someone check on Ben, what the hell happened?"
"I'm here sir, checking on him- Oh hell... Someone's guts got blown all over the dome..."
"Can the gun still be used?"
"Not without a squeegee and a couple gallons of bleach. Sights are obscured, the majority of the dome is red."
"Alright, get Ben down here to help with the radio while Lee works on the Pathfinder. Send word to all bombers to tell their gunners to check their damn targets next time!"
"General, Pathfinder has been repaired! We have a squadron of jets hauling ass right at us, allied jets in pursuit!"
"How far are we out from the island?"
"We should be almost there, however, my scope is still obscured by fog!"
"Is that damn CCC still working?"
"That'd be my guess General." Hartwig grimaced as he heard that and then adjusted course slightly and silently muttered under his breath.
"James I hope you haven't forgotten about that damn facility. We're almost right over it."
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(Black Sand Island, Facility No.10, Climate Control Center: East)
...
Four soldiers, each clad in steel plate bearing Rotarian crests and hefting chopped Matchstick machineguns, stood by the entrance of the nondescript facility. To the untrained or unawares, the building was just another facility with a number. To James however, with his dragon senses, there was a strong sense of unease. He was involuntarily clenching his teeth and his skin itched as if he was being swarmed by mosquitoes. Whatever was on the opposite side of that heavy steel door, it was both unnatural, and unrestrained.
Stiger stood beside James as he eyed the front door and then looked to him and nodded.
"Explosions won't work on that door, it looks standard but it's in fact a heavy steel vault door like they use in banks. Chances are the second the guards fire their weapons alarms will go off and that facility will go into lockdown. We have to take out all four guards at once and do it quietly. Any ideas?" One of the scientists with James cleared his throat and opened his satchel pulling out a half dozen gas masks.
"I know how you feel about chemical warfare James but I do believe, unfortunately, that desperate times call for desperate measures." James' expression darkened.
"What kind of gas is in those grenades?"
"I have two here. They are from a batch of some sort of knockout gas someone was working on." James thought for a moment and nodded, donning the mask. The scientist pulled the pins on the grenades and rolled the can-shaped grenades down the hall. The guards heard the noise and saw the cans stop in front of them. One frowned and shook his head, thinking that someone was simply discarding an empty can and stooped to pick it up when he froze.
The gas burst from the cans and the guard who stooped over got a face full of it and fell back coughing and hacking. The other guards also began acting similarly and clutching their throats before finally collapsing and having seizures. James paled under his mask and looked to the scientist who had thrown the grenades who was also in shock. Stiger rounded on him.
"Who was the chemist working on the grenades you took?!" The scientist began stammering but then stopped.
"It was the late Dr. Ivan Sokolov who was designing the grenades." Another scientist rounded on him.
"Sokolov's work wasn't anything like knockout gas, it was poison gas you dunce! He was using the sulfur that occured naturally here on the island and hydrogen gas to create hydrogen sulfide! It's a highly toxic gas that can kill in seconds!" James looked to Stiger.
"Who was Sokolov?"
"Tellanian defector working willingly with Mechanos in exchange for sparing his hometown of Carrakvost. We who were against Mechanos arranged for his lab to experience a sudden accident that flooded the lab with poison gas. However, he'd already made ten batches of the HS grenades. One of which, according to the records, was sent to Tai-Lang Empire in exchange for research of one Professor Kai Sun Ming." Stiger sighed and shook his head.
"According to intel I managed to get ahold of, the Emperor has already deployed the gas against an uprising in the city of Qein in the Lesser Imperial Territory. What remained of the batch has been rushed into research for mass production." James frowned and then rose.
"We'll address that when the time comes. For now, though I despise the use of such weapons they did clear the way for us. Let's just hope no one inside heard the commotion and locked down the door."
James moved down the hall, stepping over the bodies of the guards, and approached the big double doors to the CCC. Stiger moved to the left door with one of the scientists, the others to the right. James looked to Stiger who nodded and produced a fragmentation grenade from his belt. James lifted the large bolt on one side of the door and slid it out of the way and held up three fingers, then two, one. He pulled the door open, Stiger chucked the grenade through the door.
A yell of shock and horror resounded moments before an explosion. James through the door open, weapon ready, unsure of what to expect, but then froze when he saw the inside of the room. When coming up with a plan to disable the CCC, James had wondered how Mechanos was controlling the weather in a localized area like Black Sand Island. He now had his answer.
There, chained in the center of the room, with at least a dozen pipes and tubes filled with a fluid that gave off a ghastly blue light jutting and crisscrossing it, was a Syllian Storm Dragon. Or rather its mummified corpse, along with a massive dark crystal jutting from its chest like a spear. What's more, James recognized the dragon.
It was Rayxor, the storm dragon lieutenant of Silverus, the dragon who had attempted to kill Thera and Ignitus all those years ago.
As Stiger went around the room checking the room for survivors of the grenade and the scientists wne about trying to figure out how to shut the CCC down without going near the dragon mummy in the room, James neared the corpse, a sense of not only dread and anger, but also sorrow. He placed his hands upon a console and gazed at the dragon's body and sighed.
Stiger gave a whistle and pointed to a console with a series of levers marked with various weather effects. Currently, the only levers engaged were labelled for 'Fog' and something called an 'Amplifier'. James nodded.
"If I had to guess, the Amplifier is what's in the CCC Central Control Facility. The Fog is obvious." Stiger nodded and gazed over the panel.
"There's one for each type of wind, everything from a breeze to hurricane force. Rain, sleet, snow, hail. How is Mechanos able to do this?" James sighed.
"This is more along the lines of necromancy or dragon magic than human science and technology. My knowledge on the subject is, admittedly, rather sparce but the gist of it is that the crystal binds the corpse to whoever is the Master and thus gives them control over the abilities the corpse wielded in life. The facility is just a way to fine tune the control and summon only a designated skill or ability rather than aimlessly throwing about random skills." James waved to the console and then the dragon corpse.
"Ordinarily, or rather unshackled, you'd get an uncontrolable burst of chaotic weather energy that would cause all manner of havoc. This way, you can make it appear as though you have control of the weather and only summon specific patterns that you need." Stiger nodded.
"Genius." James shook his head.
"No, not genius, horrific. Mechanos is using the dead to benefit himself, to make it appear as though he has mastered the elements. That's why the guards at the CCC have orders to shoot to kill and why only those Mechanos trusts implicitly are assigned here. If the storm dragons back in Syllia ever got word of this, there'd be no end of their fury." James turned to Rayxor's corpse.
"Even though he worked with Silverus to try and kill my daughter and son-in-law, Rayxor did not deserve this."
No sooner had he said that then he pushed the levers for the weather to the Off position. Immediately, the eerie blue light from the tubes faded and the dark crystal dimmed. Then, a sound of creaking was heard. One of the scientists looked about and then screamed in horror, causing James to spin around and look at the scientist and then at the reason for the scream.
Rayxor's chest was starting to move. Raspy, hollow breath sounds wheezed from it, slow at first but then faster and deeper. Dull chipped claws flexed, joints cracked, mouldered wings rustled. Then, much to James' horror, Rayxor's eyes opened, and peered directly at him.