Altdorf, South Sea
Henrik Gerber really wanted to sleep but he was very late with the income tax statement again and now he really had to do it. For about the tenth time he swore to himself that next time he would use a consultant and already knew he would not given their fees. Instead he was working his way through his "Elster" form on his computer and tried to make sure that all taxes he had paid in the Empire already were deducted from what he was due.
Now he googled to get past the next hurdle: How could he account for "prize money". Miragliano`s assessor had taken a shine to the last two slave ships "Altdorf`s" had taken and had bought them for his own navy. The money had been shared between the crown and crew and while he could really use the cash the German tax form wasn`t really meant for it.
Norsca, 100 kilometers from Confederation territory
When the sun finally rose above the horizon Paul Müller was already up for several hours. Not that this was especially hard to do, currently the sun was up for only two hours a day and while he would have loved more time in his sleeping bag it would certainly not do. Still, sunrise was still a good time for a stop, a look around and a break if no danger presented itself. Letting the stick dangle from its loop the former paratrooper lifted his hand above his head and made sure his hand was outstretched against the sky. The command had been anticipated and so the whole column slowed down to a standstill within seconds. Paul had no need to issue orders, those of his warriors who led the vanguard and the rear guard knew very well what to do. Orders were spoken, sleds and backpacks released and skiers hissed through the snow. They would seek the crests of the next hills to avoid the column being ambushed, they would establish a perimeter so that the main body could have a rest and deploy for defense if challenged.
Given that the Confederation`s task force had crossed into Skraeling territory two days ago it was not so much a question of if they would be challenged but when. Paul pushed up his googles that normally protected against snow blindness once the sun was up and went to his sled to rummage through his stuff. He found the thermos easily enough and the hot tea inside was as welcome as ever. That it was mixed with a bit of lard was definitively an acquired taste, but by now he was so used to it that he could say if it was ok or really bad. He took a look around and things were more or less as he expected them to be. The sun threw the sheer cliffs into stark relief, constant wind had pushed the snow into a series of dune-like structures and besides his Norscans, simply nothing moved. The snow had pulled a shroud across the land as it did each winter, but this time it was worse than usual. The cold and snow had come early and a lot of the crops had died before they could be harvested. The Confederation had brought its animals into the shelters. A few years ago they would have bricked them in till next spring and would have observed which of them would crawl out, it had taken the GTZ to get them off that. As for the chances the livestock of the clans not associated with the Confederation Müller would not give a copper piece.
And when the snow had accumulated sufficiently, a brief thaw, had managed to convert the upper millimeters into ice that made anybody who wanted to traverse it break through noisily with every step. Hunting became nearly impossible and the ice closed the sea to fishing more every day. The Confederation had German aid, motorized trawlers and emergency stockpiles. The other clans faced starvation and it was hard to imagine that they would take that laying down. Some had already started to inquire about buying food and the Hetdroning was about to sell them, if needs be against credit. Some of them simply went silent and that did not bode well. Paul, his wife and the Council feared the white snow would become red in short order and Paul had been sent out to make sure this would not happen inside the Confederation. And while the weather had cut off all possibilities to obtain food from the stark landscape, it allowed Paul to mount his troops on skies and pull sleds. That way they could actually haul a far greater load then in summer, even if it was hard going.
Sea of Claws, 200 kilometers from Germany
The sky was cold, black and clear 30 kilometers above the Sea of Claws. And while nothing should cause it and surely nobody observed it something like a heat distortion rolled through a small patch of sky. It intensified briefly before the fabric of space itself was torn asunder for the briefest of moments and a small black teardrop emerged from it. The rift behind it closed before anything else could escape and the teardrop oriented itself before accelerating southwards.
Any check of the small craft would have resulted in a verdict that it was unmanned. That was right and wrong at the same time. A great long time ago Plog`s people had developed a great technological civilization, created marvels to behold, and became mighty. They discovered how to connect their minds into their computers and became nearly extinct when virtual reality outshone anything that could be experienced in the real. Their kind pulled back from that brink, but barely. Still they spent an awful lot of time in their virtual realities. At the same time more and more add-ons were developed to increase their own brains. Whether their people really migrated into the computers or if these were the avatars that were never erased was an open question and to Plog a completely irrelevant one. He knew he did not have a meat-and-bones but if he desired one, he could have many. He did not see the point though. When he(?) desired to feel he could have such experiences as no mortal ever would.
That did not keep his kind from craving something "real", of doing something that counted and that was the acquisition of knowledge in its many forms and shapes. They had learned to travel the multiverse and that meant the opportunities were endless. Plog had started his journey of discovery only a few centuries ago, it would be a while before he would be trusted with something really important. Today was another chance to shine, to show that he could do what was needed. He had downloaded himself into a platform that contained all the basic sensors propulsion and basic camouflage system that he needed, applied for a transfer and received it more or less immediately. This was an interesting world, discovered a while ago. By the findings of the great and esteemed researcher Arc Makal at least two high-tech civilizations had been on this planet in the past, but had removed themselves. There were two interesting gates on the poles which allowed connection to the othersphere, and the laws of physics had bent in strange ways.
If those high-tech civilizations would still be around Plog would never be here, instead a group of elders would keep a pretty permanent watch, but as the only denizens were so primitive it was fair game for an aspirant. The last time he had been here was 15 years ago and he did not expect much to change. Before the industrial revolution hit societies developed at a slower pace and given the many wars on this blighted planet he doubted that one would ever happen. While he made sure he was more or less in the place he wanted to be sensors configured themselves for the many scans he would perform. Formed from smart materials they could perform many functions and they would be optimized for the recon once they hit the shores. The first sensor that indicated something was wrong was the infrared one who found far too many ships which were far hotter than they should be. By the time the filter systems had flagged that as relevant of Plog`s attentions other sensors had found electromagnetic waves that really really should not be present. Plog checked and then rechecked the time he had been sent to. No matter how often he ran the tests, the time since he had last checked was 15.5 years since his last visit. He could imagine some spark transmitters or telegraph developed during that time. Instead of that he looked at the electromagnetic spectrum of a fully-fledged Class IV-b civilization . What the ghu had happened here?
Sea of Claws, very close to Tondern
LZ-72 was one of the older AEW airships. Its design could be traced back to the NT-Zeppelins easily, it was not very big and powered by only three Diesel engines. Instead of a phased-array radar molded into the envelope, it still had an antenna that rotated inside LZ-72's ballonet. It put out strong radio signals that reached out into the night-time blackness. The radio pulses struck all solid objects and reflected back. Many of the larger targets gave off their own radio signals from their transponders. These were almost certainly friendly. The real hostiles did not use transponders. The returns were compared for position over several pulses and checked for frequency shift in order to detect movement. Anything that moved slower than 50 kph was usually discarded and the rest displayed. The TFTs in front of the crew were moderately busy, unsurprising given the date and currently all contacts had a small flag attached that dutifully displayed information provided by a transponder. All was fine and while every last one of the crew would have preferred to be home celebrating, the closeness to Penemünde Nord made such thoughts moot. Germany`s oldest space port needed to be protected 24/7 and the same went for the part of North German coastline LZ-72 was responsible for. Neither the Norscan raid into Rostock nor the Druchii one at Papenburg was forgotten by anybody.
Lieutenant Wilms grabbed for his lunch box when the rim of his monitor went red and a new contact was displayed. It had suddenly appeared smack in the middle of the display, but that was the least frightening thing about it. "Biologicals" had a tendency to do so as they either accelerated past 50 kph for short bursts or had a rather small RCS. This one was different though.
"Bogey, say again bogey at 29 degree, distance 121, altitude 25K, speed 682 knots, course 168."
"Lieutenant reset the display, Hans, set up a self-diagnostic scan."
"Yes Sir."
"Sir, Wilms here. Contact persists, speed and altitude stay same, course now 162."
"Sir, I can see no problems with the radar."
"Scheiße, let`s kick this upstairs."
Jagel, North Germany
Jens Heim looked at the Christmas Tree that took one corner of the ready room. It was rather obvious that it had not been decorated by a family for themselves, but by men who wanted to be somewhere else. The food had been excellent by cantina standards, there had been an alcohol-free mulled wine and the absence of family which was a shame. Somebody had to do duty on Christmas Eve and he had drawn one of the short straws so here he was, whether he wanted or not. The Wing Commander had hinted that nobody would look too hard if the pilots on duty would call their families as long as they did it in sequence. He had managed a Skype video chat for a quarter hour and promised a great day tomorrow. His wingman was going through the same routine presently; he could hear him through the half-open door to the bunk room.
He started to grab for another glass of coke when the alarm went off. He started running before he really realized there was an alert and his wingman`s swearing reached epic proportions once the call was ended. He made his way to the nearby plane while pulling up various zippers and slipped into his cockpit. All around him the crews went through a well-researched ballet and readied the two Typhoons on "Ready 5" alert. Compressed air was squirted into the plane`s intakes, the turbines spooled up and ignited while he was going through the abbreviated checklist. The ladder to his cockpit was pulled away while the crew chief showed him a fistful of flags attached to short wires, four IRIS and an equal number of Meteor missiles were now "live".
Four minutes and 42 seconds after the alert was given the two planes clawed to the sky, their shock cones lighting the runway. At the same time a tanker was making ready in case the interceptors were running low and two missile batteries switched on their radar systems.
Sea of Claws, 120 Kilometers from Germany
Plog was amazed, elated and totally overwhelmed. He who was considered a dabbler in the arts, as one who still had to learn most of what was needed to become a good researcher, who had access to second-rate equipment only, had made the discovery of the century. Somehow a Class IV-b civilization had sprung up inside the space of some 15 years. This kind of thing happened occasionally, usually through the meddling of powers who had very strange and often destructive goals. Plog`s people ignored most rules that had once governed their behavior, but non-interference was very high on the list of things still important to them. Who- or whatever did this was not only interesting but also a potential danger to his kind. He would look at this wonder, study it in depth and return with an increase in standing he could not have dreamt about before. He would keep at the fringes of the newcomer civilization at first, parts of his mind were already having their first success in deciphering some of the info so freely distributed via electromagnetic waves. If he were to put a bit more of himself into these efforts he might make real advances before his time here was up.
German Coastline to the Sea of Claws
A couple of years before Jens Heim would have approached any bogey lit up like a Christmas Tree, with his radar tracking any contact and a lot of radio chatter. Neither Dragon nor Demon had the potential of detecting the radio emissions and make any sense of them. The Chaos Dwarfs and their "Flugscheiben" had been a rather nasty wake-up call and so the Luftwaffe returned to the proper way of doing things. Currently the Typhoon radiated a whole lot of nothing, but the signals of its transponder and a lot of infrared radiation to its rear. The TFT in front of Heim still displayed all the objects in the area thanks to a datalink both to the AEW-Zepp and two ground stations. His plane had received the new conformal fuel tanks and had a light load, so even without afterburners the two interceptors closed with their target at Mach 1.2. They would have a look at the bogey with their infrared detectors in a few minutes.
Sea of Claws, 90 kilometers from Germany
The first hint that something was off was when one of the radio pulses that reached Plog`s current body started to come more often and then "stay" and increase in power. Little later infrared sensors found two targets which did not change bearing but increased their apparent size at a steady rate, something was approaching fast. By that time a great lot of computing power was put to that task and if Plog would breathe he would have stopped right then and there. How could he be so stupid, so enormously careless? Class IV-b civilizations could of course produce technology which could track and possibly even damage him. Had he known that he would encounter such an entity he would have used a very different body to host himself, one that could evade such primitive means. He immediately started the jump engine that would bring him back to base but a merciless counter told him that it would be sufficiently charged only after these objects reached him. Oh fuck, if the locals saw him as he was it would count as interference and if they, ghu forbid, did any damage he could hardly deny that. He would never ever be allowed near real research again. So what could he do?
He started to accelerate to the best speed that his body could achieve and changed course only to find that the objects accelerated even more and followed him. Fuck, he needed a few more minutes, what-ah he could use camouflage. The digital information streams that he had sampled so freely contained many pictures, some of them should have an image that would be harmless or at least normal to whomever was coming towards him. He found a disk shape, nearly selected that and then found a video of one shot down, not good. There were many flying beasts in this world, but they were probably much slower than his current speed, so pass. What the blazes could he use?
Sea of Claws, 74 kilometers from Germany
While Jens Heim was unwilling to turn on his radar he had another card to play. To the left of his cockpit was a smallish aperture which was the most visible part of his PIRATE infrared targeting and tracking system. It was very useful on the Warhammer World as so many targets did not show up well on radar and allowed identification. The pilot looked at the TFT that was to give him a picture of the bogey often so he would finally get an idea of what he was intercepting. So far he was highly frustrated as the bogey was a featureless blob on the screen that changed shape while its temperature increased with every second. This was no use and highlighted the fact that the bogey was probably dangerous.
"Typhoon two, this is one. Separate by two klicks and take a WIRIS on standby. I will try to identify visually."
"Typhoon one, this is two, copy."
Jens switched to another sensor that had been added to the fighter in the last years, an optical camera with low-light capabilities that could be slaved to the PIRATE sensor. At first it showed only a pixel mash, the very fast rate of approach made sure it resolved better by the second. He would need to approach closer than he liked. In case he was going to be attacked his wingman had a warpstone-enhanced IRIS missile that was going to take care of practically everything that was able to fly.
Sea of Claws 80 Kilometers from Germany
Just so very few seconds would mean the difference between success and failure. Plog was blessed by the absence of glands which would have made him panic, but to say he looked for something, anything, frantically would be fair. And then all the data he received offered something. It showed an aircraft of sorts that he could not identify and that should not fly at all. Well, this civilization shouldn`t be here either so that was probably ok. But it was shown as tracked by several electronic sensors in a brief video he found and nobody wanted to shoot it, quite to the contrary if he interpreted the video right. Well, here went nothing and so Plog reconfigured his outer skin and the holographic projectors.
Jens Heim had just reached the point where his camera should have given a clear picture when the screen whited out for a second as the bogey emitted a flash of light. He had passed the contact before the system could adjust and so he led his two-ship formation into a tight curve. When he had completed the turn the sensors tracked the target easily. The picture became clear in his screen and he could not think anything sensible during the next seconds.
"Lt Nord, this is Typhoon one now have target in sight. Unable to identify."
"Typhoon one, this is LT Nord, why are you unable to identify?"
"Because, because target must use optical camouflage"
"Try to contact target and have it change course. If he does not comply warn him off and open fire if that is not possible. Target is not to be allowed to cross the coast."
"Typhoon one copies."
"Typhoon two, this is one. Get in front of…this. If he does not veer off give him the jet wash."
"Typhoon two, are you sure? This might burn the…"
"Don´t be ridiculous and do it."
Jens Heim started pushing switches and sent his wireless set to guard frequency. It was probably useless, but an important part of protocol. Whatever happened, this would lead to an inquiry.
"Unknown flying object, this is the German air force. You are entering restricted airspace. Change course immediately."
No reaction
"Unknown flying object, this is.."
"Ho Ho Ho"
Jens Heim`s brain was still parsing what he had heard when a bright flash blanked out his screens and night-adapted vision for a moment. When he could see again the bogey was gone without a trace.
40 years later Jens Heim would tell his grandson that he had chased Santa Claus` sled and reindeers all over the sky. He had a video to back up that claim.
Norsca, 155 kilometers from Confederation Territory
Pulling a sled with skies is an art. If you get your timing and speed just right the sled will simply follow you. Don`t and your trip will be an endless repeat of a strong pull on your harness followed by a period where your load might very well collide with your skies followed by another pull. Paul Müller had managed to get into the good part of the march a while ago, but now an incline changed the equilibrium and he had to work hard to keep up with his men. He looked up in time to see his point men slow down before the crest and the hand signals they gave. He unhitched his sled and backpack, but waited for the vanguard`s leader to contact him before he made his way forward. He stacked his ski poles on his backpack and took his rifle before he went the last meters. This was Norsca after all and death was never far.
When he managed to make his way all the way up he was greeted by the sight of a clan`s warriors who climbed the hill from the other side. He had not made much of an effort to hide his force and was only moderately surprised by this, mostly at the fact that the warriors were so slow. Something must have weakened them and if it was indeed hunger then things must be very bad indeed.
"Hargar, Conn, deploy your people from here all the way out to that rock and that slope over there. Keep on the reverse side and do not open fire until I tell you. Color Party on me, I think I have an appointment."
And with that he made his way downslope. The skis made it easy while the warriors coming up had to fight their way through deep snow. He stopped some hundred meters below the crest and waited for the warriors to come up. His rifle was not pointed directly at the warriors that detached themselves from the main group. When in Norsca this was already a relaxed approach.
A bear of a man made it all the way up to him. There was grey in his hair and beard, the muscles in his bare arms as well defined as any anatomy models and the few pieces of armor he wore were exquisitely made. The axe in his hand seemed to move minutely by itself and the man had an air of being able to rip Paul limb from limb at a whim. He was.
"Paul Müller, the Hetdroning`s pet. Has your Confederation of weakling, cowards and fornicators decided that the Bearson Skraelings are so weak now that you can finally challenge them?"
"Ole Hradlafson, you are as stupid as ever, nice to see that some things do not change. No we have not come to challenge you, not that this would be such a challenge."
"So, why are you here then. Do you think your fat bellies would benefit from a stroll in this weather?"
"No, not exactly. We brought some food for your clan."
