15 Kilometers from Site Alpha
The spoor was still crisp, the sides had yet to fill in. While the ground was soggy the bottom was still visible, water had just started to obscure it. Before the imprint a number of twigs were bent or broken and a leaf was smeared with blood.
Helmut Meier smiled, the trek through the endless Kislevian forest was about to come to a conclusion. Turning around he saw Schneider and Brugel. All looked alert, all held their rifles ready. As they should, they were hunting one of the most challenging prey there was. Strong, tough and clever pack hunters made for prey that the hunters who remained in Germany could only dream about. Speaking of Germany, what Meier and his hunting party did would be highly illegal there and massively frowned upon the Empire. Here they would actually be praised and Meier liked that.
Beastmen had no place in the natural order of things. Lacking the capacity to engage in any kind of worthwhile society the intelligence they had made them a threat. And that threat would never end, would always exert a toll on human civilization. At least as long as they lived or until they were cowed enough to remain in the reservations their betters would assign them. He did a necessary job, something his lily-livered countrymen wouldn't or couldn't do. He'd even get to collect the bounty from the boyar. By his standards this was just loose change, but spending it at the tavern made it much nicer. Neither the necessity of the task at hand nor the reward were why Meier was on this hunt though. The reason for going out was the primeval joy in measuring himself against the beastmen, of stalking them and bring them to bay . His cunning against their better senses, his rifle against their claws. He had come out on top every time so far and every time that happened it felt as great as the first one. His senses were going full tilt, he heard every creak of wood as well as the thunder of his heart. He smelled the moist air, the slightly coppery tang of blood and the multitude of smells only a living forest could provide. He was alive, much more so then at any other time.
The spoor was clearer than the others, the blood had yet to dry. They were getting close and that was a good thing. He had gotten most of the Beastmen an hour ago, but a young buck had gotten away with a hit somewhere on his shoulder. He could not run for much long, his strides had become shorter and irregular. He would wrap this up and ….
The roar was in his back somewhere. It was not the call of a frightened buck, it was one of a fully grown Gor. And it was answered by many calls all around them.
FrigateAltdorf, 150 km from the Vampire Coast
Hans Oels watched the hands of his Kienzle Aviator move around the face. When the minute hand reached the next mark his eyebrows rose. Before this could work up on his scale of displeasure the Officer of the Watch made himself heard.
"Helm, new course 090. Make turns for five knots."
Very well, his crew had understood what this was about. Altdorf had been assigned a huge area of operations and he had to find a way to search it as quickly and as effectively as possible.
Altdorf's captain was fully aware of his limitations. He had not even heard of sonar, be it active or passive, a decade ago. Thinking about commanding such a marvel of the sea had been a pipe dream six years ago and now here he was.
Still the Germans had built a marvel of the sea, an avatar of naval warfare and they had trained him well. He would not fail at this task and bring shame to the Imperial Navy. Instead he turned to the things he had been taught and approached the problem methodically. His active sonar had a range of 15 kilometers or so against larger sea monsters or a hypothetical submarine. So if he times his sprints so that he was barely within the range his sonar had scanned on his last drift cycle before Altdorf slowed to scan again, he would cover the maximum area possible in the given time. His airship was close by, just far enough that its dipping sonar did not overlap.
He liked the drill he had come up with. The Germans had drummed the value of precision, methodical thinking and the scientific method into his mind. He would use them to good cause.
S-647 Minerve, 80 meters below, close to Lustrian coast
"Engine noise just faded skipper, I lost Bogie 1."
The eyes had the color of boiled eggs, the pupils in them were tunnels leading to the depths of madness. The hands on the watch were corroded, as were the gears and springs that drove them. Heinrich Kemmler's magic had found ways to make them work still.
The second hand had just finished its second revolution when the pebbles hit the hull again.
Lieutenant de Vaisseau Andre Fauve tried to make up his mind. Either things were as they seemed or he was looking at a trap. Something had to be wrong here, there had to be another asset that he had not yet detected. From where he was there were only very few approaches he could make against that bumbling fool, surely something was monitoring them and would punish him to send his submarine for walking into such an obvious trap. On the other hand, if it walked like a duck and quacked like a duck…
Somewhere in the depths of Fauve's mind a part of him that had not been remade into the Necromancer's design dared to push. Push a little, at the fringes where he would not be noticed, where he could still make a difference. For a while he made no headway, added to the indecision if at all. And then something tripped and a decision was found. Finally he might have found a means to end this nightmare.
"Helm, take us to 110 meters, turns for five knots. 1O, check if the thermocline is still there. Nav, I need an intercept course..."
Minerve dove deeper into the blackness around her until her sensors reported the rapid change in temperature. Making for the center of that zone she was even harder to detect than before, having a hard time to hear her prey was an acceptable tradeoff.
For the next ten minutes the only thing that moved in Minerve's command center were the drops of condensation that fell from corroded pipes and flaky ceiling to a pitted floor and the hands of several clocks that were intently watched.
"The fool will be in his next sprint. Helm, take us up to 80 meters, course 045, turns for five knots."
"Skipper, I regained contact with Bogie 1, bearing 018, rev count is high again."
"Very well. Nav, I need an intercept course. Helm, turns for 13 knots for the next 12 minutes."
Airship "Little Altdorf"
When he had mustered into the Imperial Naval Air Arm and his test results had pointed him towards airships Parzifal of Nuln had envisioned himself standing erect at the bridge of a battleship of the sky, painting a heroic picture. Reality had given him a pinnacle that rarely got above 200 meters, was nearly unarmed and headwind had disabused him of any notions of standing tall. Instead he had come to appreciate several pieces of foam his crew had rigged up all around the gondola that allowed him to kneel . That way he was taking advantage of the protection offered by the pilots wind screen and could still observe without going into cramps.
His crewmen were doing their jobs without needing much supervision, he might as well be doing something useful and use a binocular to spot something. Currently there was a whole lot of nothing to see. Well, not exactly nothing, but he had seen enough of the blue sea and the bright sky of the Lustrian coast during the last months. Here the ocean was rather deep, so that the low wind did not rouse the waves to have crests. Only a single small white feather parted the deep blue in a straight line, and that only for the briefest of moments….
"Helm, come to course 310, we drop the sonar in six klicks. Step on it."
The small gondola meant that he was never far from the wireless.
"Altdorf from Little Altdorf, please come in."
"Altdorf acknowledges."
"Altdorf, be advised that unless otherwise directed we will investigate a possible periscope sighting."
"Altdorf copies, get back on your assigned patrol pattern as soon as possible."
S-647 Minerve, 110 meters below, close to Lustrian coast
"Batteries at 30% Skipper."
"Very well 1O, more than enough. He should have started his next sprint by now. If he is so nice to time his intervals so precisely it would be impolite not to accept the invitation. I do not think they will detect the fish before it hits. Helm take us up to periscope depth, turns for five knots. Weapons, stand by, I will give him a torpedo this time."
"Yes Sir."
The boat started to groan and crackle on it's way up and the crewmen winced from the noise. Finally Minerve settled at 20 meters.
"Up scope."
Fauve met the eyepiece when it came up from below and performed a quick dance around the platform. The quick look around showed nothing besides the empty sea and the target. There was something missing, there was a shadow on the waters. His subconsciousness was about to raise an alarm when another part of Fave's mind clamped down hard on it. It was time to finish this hunt.
"Weapons, target 23 degree, distance 5500 yards, course 090, speed 16 knots."
"Yes Sir."
"Down scope. Flood tube No. 4."
The scope had just settled when an old analog computer started to squeak and numbers changed on its display.
"Solution set."
"Open outer door of No 4 tube. Firing point procedure."
"Door open."
"Fire Tube 4."
Compressed air rushed through pipes and valves that should not have been capable to contain such powers. It acted on the back end of a torpedo that sat in that tube for 60 years and propelled it into the waters. The double propellers at its end started to rotate immediately as batteries provided an electric motor with energy. For a moment it bobbed around a bit till the gyro and the rudders are able to stabilize it on its chosen course. It was an old weapon, heavily based on weapons captured from the Germans, it was slow. Any chance of it hitting were largely dependent on it staying undetected till it was too late. Altdorf's regular sprints and the quiet electric drive conspired to make it so.
"Helm, take us to 110 meters, turns for 5 knots, then come to a stop."
"Yes Sir."
Splash
The sound was sudden, loud and could be heard through Minerve's hull.
"Sonar, what do you have for me?"
"Skipper, something just dropped directly behind us. I have nothing besides that splash…"
The sound of pebbles hitting the hull was there again, but this time much, much louder.
Frigate Altdorf, 150 km from the Vampire Coast
"Sir, Little Altdorf reports an active sonar contact at 60 meters, two hundred meters from their current position."
"Lookout, bearing to the airship?"
"203 Sir."
"Very well. Helm, new course 203, turns for 5 knots. Sonar, active scan from 180 to 230. Weapons, ready the anti-submarine rocket launcher, maybe this was not a wild goose chase after all."
Hans Oels felt his ship slow down under him, felt the vibrations lessen and the engine noise lessen by the second. The powerful active sonar could be heard all through the ship when it started its scan.
Altdorf's captain stepped towards the railing and tried to spot anything at the distance. Besides the airship that hovered 20 meters or so above the waves there was nothing to be seen.
This was the new face of warfare, shooting at enemies one never saw, detecting threats with eldricht toys and…..
"Contact, say again contact. We have two contacts, bearing 220. Bogie is at 5000 meters, very slow. Bogie two is faint, firming up now. Bogie two is firming up now, rapidly closing range. Fast screw noises. Bogie two is torpedo, say again Bogie two is torpedo. No bearing change, range closing rapidly."
For a long second there was only room for one thought in Hans Oels mind.
Scheiße. This was not what he had expected. Thankfully there was a drill for everything in this man's navy.
"Helm hard right rudder, come to 020, flank speed."
Altdorf's captain had to grip the railing when the frigate started to turn and accelerate at the same time. The ship tilted to the point where any landlubber would have panicked and the vibrations were back big time. Altdorf might be short and stubby by German standards, but she could turn on a dime. By the time the torpedo had closed the range she would have vacated the position and it would harmlessly pass, wouldn't it?
Less than 1000 meters from Altdorf, ten meters below
The head of the E-12 torpedo contained hydrophones on each side . They started to pick up a strong signal from its target when it firewalled its engines. Now it steered so that the noise in each hydrophone was at the same level. That allowed the old weapon to steer for the ship it had been fired at.
It was less than 500 meters away when it hit a massive disturbance in the water that tossed it around this way and that. It also blocked any signal it might otherwise have received. When it emerged from the knuckle that Altdorf had left by its violent turn it was rather off course, so it straightened itself out according to the heading prescribed by its gyro. When it had settled on its course it found no signal at all.
It continued on this course for more than 200 meters before the simple logic that emerged from hardwired circuits, gears, cams and necromancy decided that this was not good enough.
The torpedo started to circle to the right, listening for any signal all the while. It found sufficient noise on its second round and steered for it. It ran straight into the frigate's baffles, the zone behind the ship that its sonar was blind to.
Still, the ship was still accelerating and the torpedo was old, electrically driven and slow. It gained on Altdorf, albeit rather slowly. Whether the batteries held enough juice to close the distance was an open question.
But close it the torpedo did, cutting through the waters with a high pitched whine. The batteries had not been maintained for nearly 60 years and even Heinrich Kemmler could only do so much about them. They started to fade and the weapon started to slow while the target still accelerated to a speed matching the torpedo. In the end the hydrophones and the magnetic pistol detected an opening distance to the target and fired.
330 kilogram of potent explosives detonated less than 10 meters from the Frigates hull. A similar weapon had sunk a freighter more than 30 times Altdorf's displacement, what chance did the small ship have?
