Operation Trebuchet III: Sudden strike
40 years after the Great War
Londinium
The legality of the naval bombardment at Turus remains a thorny issue in the relations between the Allied Kingdom and the Francois Republic, with parts of the Republican government still maintaining that the attack constitutes a war crime. However, the Allied Kingdom has always claimed that De Juin's broadcast constituted a declaration of war against the Allies and the official stance is that the action, although regrettable, was justified.
While so many of the records relating to the incident remain classified, we may never know the truth of the matter. However, we do know that Admiral Winters' fleet was under time constraints due to events unfolding in other theatres of the war. Additionally, the soon to be Prime Minister Spencer Churbullhas claimed on many occasions that he explicitly ordered that the port be rendered unusable in one way or another.
Could this have caused Winters to act more rashly than he otherwise might have?
We may never know.
Admiral Winters died only two years after the war, never sharing his thoughts on the attack. He was perhaps the only man who could truly say if the assault was justified or not, but he took that information with him to the grave. – Andrew WTN Special Correspondent
September 25th Unified Year 1925
Commonwealth Training Camp,Achnacarry Castle, Caledonia, Allied Kingdom of Albion 16:00
Calm down, you're not going to screw up this time Mary told herself as she concentrated on aiming her shot. She did her best to control her breathing as she peered down the sights of her rifle towards the distant training target at the far side of the firing range. You can do this!
She'd been told it was imperative for an aerial mage to be able to fire both accurately and efficiently but unfortunately Mary had been struggling to get the hang of using her issued 'd been afraid of even touching her grandparent's rifle when she'd stayed with them in the Unified States; now she'd been entrusted with one of her own, that fear hadn't gotten much better.
Holding the weapon made her feel uneasy, it didn't feel natural to hold something that was designed only for killing. Firing it was even worse; the noise and recoil made her instinctively flinch and close her eyes as she pulled the trigger and she often found herself shaking slightly after she'd fired it.
It had been difficult for both her and her instructor to train her out of these bad habits. She'd been told she should think of the gun as a tool and that she'd eventually get used to it, but even after weeks of training, she didn't feel any more comfortable with it.
The inevitable consequence of her nerves and consistent blunders was that she rarely managed to even hit her target, especially at longer ranges. This usually resulted in her getting an earful from whichever NCO had been put in charge of the cadets that day. It was an experience that was deeply humiliating, and she did not wish to repeat it.
Today, Sergeant Major Hughes was watching over the exercise, the senior instructor who had been with the cadets since they had first arrived in Albion. At first, she had been quietly terrified of the man; the first thing he had done was bawl out the cadets as he'd lectured them on the rules. Finishing his speech with the words: "Since many of you are officer cadets, I will at times be calling you sir. As your instructor you will also address me in the same way; the difference is, you will mean it!"
She'd later found that although he seemed harsh, he was not unkind. She'd only ever witnessed him get truly angry when a cocky cadet from the Unified States had been trying to show off his shooting skills away from the firing range. Sergeant Hughes had beaten him within an inch of his life for endangering the rest of the battalion before immediately sending the cadet home, despite the protests of the US attaché. The sergeant had said: "he could forgive ignorance, but he wouldn't forgive stupidity, especially when it puts people in danger."
He had proven to be a mentor to her and done her best to help her whenever he could, spending extra time coaching her that might have been better spent helping someone less useless. It made her feel guilty that she was holding everyone back, but she was trying her best to improve, getting better little by little. She desperately hoped she wouldn't let everyone down today, particularly since the commander was watching the exercise.
She risked a sideways glance at Lieutenant Colonel Drake as the man glanced out over the cadets with a stern expression. She imagined that if he smiled, he might be rather handsome. Vivi certainly seemed to think so and had confessed she had a slight crush on the officer. However, Mary had never seen him wear anything other than a frown, at least around the cadets. It was no secret that he was unhappy about being taken away from his own unit to supervise the volunteer corps.
She'd had little direct contact with the man aside from a brief meeting after they first arrived. He had summoned her to question her about her father, after explaining that his uncle had briefly served with him. She'd desperately tried to question the man about what he knew, about what had become of him. All she'd received was the same story she'd heard again and again: Anson Sioux had died at Osfjord facing the Devil of the Rhine.
She knew there was more to it, she could sense it deep down, and she was sure the man knew more than he was letting on. However, he had become angry when she pressed the subject and he'd been especially hostile towards her ever since. She hadn't dared try to bring it up with him again.
All this made her feel more nervous about the exam, messing up in front of the cadets and Sergeant Hughes was one thing but in front of Colonel Drake? It didn't bear thinking about.
You can do this! She repeated trying to steady her shaky aim as she returned her gaze down the sights of her rifle, carefully lining it up with the distant target.
"Five shots, rapid-fire!" Ordered the sergeant and she felt her training take over. Five times she squeezed the trigger, not thinking as she pulled back the bolt and refocussed her aim between shots. After the final shot, she pulled back the safety catch and returned the weapon to her shoulder, another instinctive action of her training before she stood and took stock of her performance.
She felt a warm feeling of pride in herself as she realised she had managed not to flinch during the exercise. She hadn't even thought about it, perhaps she finally was getting used to the weapon. She silently thanked Sergeant Hughes for all his help and patience with her, it seemed to have paid off. She just hoped that she'd managed to hit the training dummy.
"Damnit, cadet! How many times have I told you to keep your eyes open as you fire!" She heard Hughes yell and she felt her heart drop, assuming she was the target of the instructor's ire. Perhaps her pride had been misplaced, had she messed up again and let everyone down.
"I'm sorry sergeant, I forgot that it upsets you, but I assure you it would have made no difference." A familiar voice returned, banishing her newfound despondency as she recognised the soft, raspy tone of her friend Damian. He was another one who had been on both Hughes' and Drake's watchlist, although for very different reasons. "The Lord guides my hand."
She was sure that both men would have preferred to have drummed the boy out of the volunteers along with the cadet from the Unified States, Hughes had argued several times that he wasn't fit for duty. However, for some reason events seemed to conspire to keep him in the unit. Additionally, the higher-ups didn't like the idea of giving up someone with combat experience on the continent, particularly since he had faced some of the Empire's elite forces. He had never spoken about it, and Mary had yet to pluck up the courage to ask, but it was said he'd faced both the Devil and the Saint and lived.
Mary had been happy that her friend had been allowed to stay but his actions didn't do anything to help his reputation for being a little strange. Most of the other cadets avoided him thinking he was weird or traumatised from what he had endured on the battlefield. Even the officers seemed a little uneasy around the boy and acted differently around him. However, after getting to know him, Mary only saw a lonely and pious boy who wanted to do his part and save someone he cared about. What was wrong with that?
The people she cared about were far away now, safe for the moment from the horrors of war and the tyranny the Empire would bring if it were allowed hegemony over Europa. Still, she was certain that the Empire still posed a threat to them and everything they stood for, they posed a threat to everyone. If someone didn't stand against them, they would eventually impose their will on the entire world. All those deaths, all the pain; the death of her father, it would have been for nothing.
"Enough lip cadet! You do things right or I'll send you h…"." Hughes paused his angry tirade as he realised his usual threat would not work on the refugee from Letzenbourg. "I swear you'll be out this time!"
"Is my performance not satisfactory?" Damian asked calmly, somehow immune to the intimidating aspect of the sergeant major only infuriating the man further.
"It bloody well isn't! And furthermore, cadet Willibrord…" The sergeant trailed off as one of the other instructors approached with Damian's target sheet and the senior NCO's face scrunched into an unpleasant snarl.
"Impossible! Again?" He said in a half-whisper as he studied the target sheet noting the perfect grouping of the shots. This was not the first time that Damian had managed something like this, and his continued success was a constant source of annoyance for Hughes. At this point, Mary was willing to believe that his shots really were guided by God; or at very least, he completely believed that they were.
"I'll be watching you Willibrord. Keep your eyes open, for the safety of your comrades if nothing else. I don't care how you did I on the continent, here you do it my way!" The instructor warned before stalking off to inspect the work of the other cadets.
Things seemed to settle down for a while as the sergeant strode down the firing line, inspecting the work of the cadets and giving them feedback. Mary waited patiently, if not a little nervously as she awaited her own evaluation and did her best to remain firmly at attention, despite the desire to look over to see how everyone else had fared.
"Cadet Sioux." The Shadow of the senior instructor rumbled as he positioned himself in front of her causing her to swallow nervously. The sergeant-major gave her a reassuring smile as one of the other instructors passed over her target sheet. He studied it for a moment before his grin widened, and he passed the paper to her.
"Well done cadet, you've made good progress since you first came here." Sergeant Hughes began and she felt a small sense of pride radiate from the man's words. "You still need some practice, but I think we can at least trust you not hit our side."
She felt herself contort into a wide grin as she looked at her target sheet, feeling proud that she had managed to overcome her trial. Hughes was right, her shots were still a little sloppy and spread across the target sheet, but every shot had hit the target. A marked improvement.
She'd come a long way since she'd first got here, she hadn't even hit the dummy on her first examination. She'd felt so dejected that she had even considered giving up and going home. That she had managed to improve so much felt like a great achievement for her, perhaps she really could follow in Father's footsteps.
"Commander Drake, Sir!" A familiar voice called out from behind, snapping her from her thoughts and causing her to turn on instinct. She'd recognised the voice before her eyes had found its source Vivi Kelly; a spunky Írlish girl who had taken it upon herself to be her big sister and best friend while they served together. She had passed her evaluation earlier that day and had been assigned other duties while the rest of the cadets and instructors finished their work. "Urgent message for you!"
Vivi offered a salute and passed the message before subtly extracting herself from the officer's side, something Mary had never been able to master. By now, the cadets had been dismissed and were now milling around discussing their results, Mary looked around for Damian, but the boy had already left, likely to return to his usual haunt in the chapel. Instead of following, she opted to wait, knowing that if she did, Vivi would reappear nearby. As suspected the older girl forced her way through the cadets and gave her a friendly smile as she approached before gesturing towards the paper in Mary's hand.
"How'd it go? Hughes only looks slightly angry so I can only assume that Damian is the only one who's annoyed him today." The girl said beside her with a knowing smile. She wasn't sure how, but somehow the girl seemed to know everything that went on in the base, even if it had only just happened.
"I passed!" Mary grinned waving her target sheet proudly.
"Well done! I knew you could do it!" Vivi replied pulling her into a friendly hug. Mary felt herself smile as the older girl wrapped her arms around her, such closeness was rare in the training camp, and she allowed herself a moment to enjoy it. She gently squeezed back in thanks to the older girl, she probably wouldn't have made it through all this without her support.
Eventually, they split from their hug and Mary caught a glance of Colonel Drake reading the message out of the corner of her eye. She hadn't thought it possible, but the man's frown had deepened, and she could see from the look in his eyes that he was struggling to keep his frustration at bay.
"What was it you gave the commander?" She asked as she nodded towards their leader, "he doesn't look very happy about it."
Vivi smirked before putting on a show of innocence.
"I wouldn't know, I'm not allowed to peek at private dispatches." The girl grinned mischievously, her tone telling her that her words did not reflect the truth and Mary gave her a disapproving look. "But… rumour has it that the commander's old unit is involved in something big; I hear there have been some big fleet movements recently."
Mary glanced over at the colonel and saw him glowering at the message before he crunched the paper up in his hand. Was it her imagination or was he shaking? Despite his attempts to hide it, he was clearly upset by the news that Vivi had delivered. She felt a cramp in her stomach, any bad news about the war meant that the Empire was winning. That could only mean they were expanding military dictatorship further. That would be enough to upset her, but would that really be enough to anger the usually stoic Albion so much?
No that couldn't be it, he hadn't been so cut up when they'd heard the news about the defeat at Alealmayn. But what could it be? She wondered as she watched the man privately battle his inner demons.
His unit she realised as she studied the man's dark expression. He must be worried about them.
Mary glanced around at the remaining cadets. Many had now left to return to their barracks but there were still a few like her and Vivi milling around. She wondered what it might be like to hear about them going into battle. What would it be like to hear that Damian and Vivi were out there fighting while she was too far away to help? She wasn't sure she could stand it. She wouldn't even like hearing that the cadets that had been mean to her, the ones who blamed her for the war by virtue of her nationality, were in danger.
It was no wonder Colonel Drake hated being around them. It must have been a reminder that he wasn't with the comrades he had served with, the people he really cared about. What must it be like to know that that your friends were fighting and dying while you were babysitting some hopeless trainees, powerless to protect the people you cared for? It must be awful, like waiting for father to return.
Her fists clenched her fists as she felt a pang of sympathy for her commander, mixed with anger at her helplessness to help prevent someone else from feeling such pain. He didn't even have someone like Vivi to rely on, he had to shoulder that pain by himself.
Her feet propelled her forward, despite the worried call from Vivi. Part of her knew she was being foolish, the man hated her, he probably didn't want to talk to her. But she knew she had to let the man know he wasn't alone. The thought that anyone had to feel the fear of losing another, or the emptiness if it actually happened. She didn't want the man to think he had no one to turn to when he needed it.
Before she knew it, she was stood in front of Lieutenant Colonel Drake. She swallowed down her nervousness at being around the man and forced herself to bring her gaze to the taller man.
"Commander! I know you must be worried about your old unit, but I promise you that we're all working hard for you. We'll be ready to fight soon, then we can take the fight to the enemy!" She said, trying her best to sound determined for her commander. "In the meantime, we're all here for you, no matter what."
Drake stared at her in surprise for a moment and Mary dared believe she'd done the right thing by approaching the man. She'd been right, the man needed the support of those around him.
However, his expression soon returned to a frown, and he glowered back down at her.
"If I'm not mistaken Cadet Sioux, you can still barely aim that thing while stationary, let alone while on the move." He began gesturing toward the rifle on her shoulder, "I wouldn't be so reckless as to put you on a battlefield for a long time yet and I wouldn't expect anyone under my command to act that reckless either. You'll go into battle when I say so, not before!"
Her heart dropped as the man's words bit into her like a knife. She'd been proud of what she had achieved today but the commander had torn her down with a few simple words. She may have managed to impress Sergeant Hughes, but the Colonel didn't seem to care at all, and she had to fight to keep the tears from her eyes as the old feeling of inadequacy began to return to her.
"Besides which, why would you know anything about my old unit? Or what they are doing?" The man added with a suspicious tone.
The tears in Mary's eyes seemed to evaporate as she froze under the man's gaze, cursing her carelessness. He was right, she shouldn't have known anything about Drakes old unit, none of the cadets should have. The only reason they did was because of the snooping of Vivi and a few of the others. She felt a knot in her stomach as she realised that she'd likely landed everyone in trouble with her display. She hoped they wouldn't be punished too harshly.
"I think Cadet Kelly needs to be reminded about reading private messages and the dangers of loose lips." Drake continued glancing up towards Vivi who had frozen as the man's gaze fell on her.
"For your part…" The man paused for a moment thoughtfully before sighing and seeming to calm slightly. "I appreciate the sympathy cadet but save it for someone else, I'm not some young buck who's never lost a comrade before. You can report to Mr Hughes for punishment in an hour. After I've talked with your co-conspirator over there. Dismissed! Cadet Kelly a word!"
Mary trudged off, giving Vivi an apologetic glance as she passed. Fortunately, the older girl replied with a reassuring smile, telling her that she wasn't too angry, despite the accidental betrayal. She might have even been slightly pleased about getting to spend a bit of extra time with colonel Drake, even if it was just to be yelled at.
Mary wandered away, unable to listen to her friend get lectured by their superior. She needed to find some sort of peace before she needed to report for whatever punishment Hughes could devise for her. She just hoped it wasn't latrine duty, the boys may have been better at aiming a gun than her but when it came to the latrines it seemed they needed extra lessons.
Without any input from her brain, her feet took her towards the chapel. She expected to find him at prayer within but to her surprise she found Damian laying on the ground outside staring at the sky instead.
She regarded him as she approached and not for the first time, she felt a little sorry for him. Once he would have been quite a cute little boy, however, his face was covered in injuries and scars that had not fully healed from his time in battle. She had heard his body was also covered with evidence of his struggles against the Empire and she'd witnessed him occasionally wince as one of his ailments caused him pain. It had even all but taken his voice, which now could only be heard in a quiet rasp. Whatever the Devil and Saint had done to him, he was lucky to have survived.
He had put himself in danger for the sake of others, something that Mary admired him for. However, he had paid a steep price for his actions.
"You seem troubled." Damian said quietly, continuing to stare at the sky as she drew nearer. When they had first arrived, Damian had insisted on calling everyone brother or sister; a habit he had picked up during his upbringing in the church in which his surname had been borrowed. It had taken her and the instructors a great deal of effort to persuade him to stop and it had not helped him make many friends. Now there was only one person that he referred to as brother, the one he insisted he had to save.
"I got in trouble with the commander again." Mary explained glumly, claiming a place on the grass by his side. "And I caused Vivi some problems too."
"I'm certain your heart was in the right place. Compassion was one of the gifts God blessed you with." Damian replied matter-of-factly. It was strange to hear Damian talk about God, he possessed an utter certainty whenever he spoke of Him, there was no doubt in his mind that what he said was absolutely true.
"Maybe." She conceded, knowing that to argue with the boy was impossible. "Sometimes I wish he'd blessed me with a better aim like he did you though."
She had meant it as a joke, but she immediately regretted it. Damian didn't understand jokes, particularly when the Lord was involved, and she felt a shiver run down her side as Damian's gaze turn and bore into her.
"The Lord has given you a great many gifts Mary. They may be a blessing, but they come with responsibility. You should not ask for more."
An awkward silence fell between them as the boy returned his gaze to the sky and Mary cursed herself for her carelessness. She knew he meant well but Damian could be difficult to be around sometimes.
"What about you, wouldn't you usually be praying now?" She asked eventually, trying to rekindle the conversation and to her surprise, she heard Damian hesitate. She had rarely seen anything to affect his unshakable sense of certainty.
"I…I must admit, I am restless and find myself unable to perform my usual meditations." He said sounding almost embarrassed by the fact. "Something terrible is going to happen to him."
"Your brother?" She asked understanding the boy's concern. Although he had spoken very little about the specifics, Damian had made it clear that he cared for no one more than his brother. Mary knew almost nothing about him but Damian's desire to save his brother was so strong that she felt a measure of it whenever he mentioned him.
"It will be painful" Damian nodded with a rare frown, confirming her suspicion. "I hope he is strong enough to endure."
"Then you should pray for him." Mary said sitting up, feeling strangely nervous about what she was about to offer, she didn't use the chapel as often as she should. "Perhaps we should both pray for him."
Damian looked at her and his expression returned to its usual serene smile.
"Yes, let us pray."
September 25th Unified Year 1925
Battleship Bretagne, Port of Turus 16:15
Will gave an involuntary yelp as his head smashed into the wall of the Bretagne's bridge and a sharp stab of pain shot through his skull as a protruding bolt struck his temple.
Reflexively his eyes snapped shut in response to the pain and he landed hard on his shoulder as the floor trembled beneath him. He'd had no time to react or steady himself before his tumble, the deck had shaken so violently and so suddenly, he had been falling before he'd realised what was happening.
He grunted as he rolled onto his side, his head throbbing while the ringing filling his ears made it impossible to gain any information about his surroundings. He pried his eyes open, revealing nothing more than the cold metal deck and the hurried footsteps of the officers and sailors rushing past him.
Gradually his hearing began to return, the high-pitched whine in his ears replaced by warning klaxons and the panicked shouts of Republican officers demanding answers of their subordinates. Evidently, his François compatriots were just as confused about the situation as he was, at least enough that his presence had been temporarily forgotten, despite his VIP status. However, the shouts were soon drowned out again as a thunderous roar erupted nearby and the mighty ship shook once again.
An explosion? Has there been an accident on board? He thought as the chaos swam around him; it felt unreal. Regardless of the cause, it was clear he was in danger. He couldn't just lie here.
He tried to push himself upright but felt as though his head was spinning as he tried to move while his vision became increasingly blurred as the movement worsened the dizziness. He lifted a hand to his head in the attempt to stop the nauseous whirling in his skull but succeeded only in finding a trickle of blood emanating from his temple. He must have hit his head harder than he'd realised.
Damn! I was careless! I should have been shielding or at least enhancing myself. He chastised himself inwardly. He'd been cocky, he'd wanted to show the Republicans that despite being amongst so many of them and on one their most powerful symbols of power he had no fear of them. He'd made a show of not using magic to remind them who was in charge. Perhaps Tanya was right, maybe he did have a bad habit of trying to show off.
Gradually he managed to pull himself into a seated position on the floor and leaned his back on the wall that had just bested him. He felt a stab of pain in his side as the deck shook, the vibration reawakening the pain in his rib that he had never quite allowed to properly heal, and he cursed himself again for his lack of self-care.
With his back against the rear wall of the bridge, he glanced around the room to get his bearings, fighting the whirling sensation in his head as he looked for some assistance. He had sent Christina and Sophia out to oversee the broadcast, so there would be no help from them. But surely one of the Republicans would help him, he was their guest after all.
His gaze searched the bridge and his eyes widened as he saw smoke and flames filling the room. Several sailors lay slumped on the floor or at their stations, either dead or too injured to perform their duties. While several more were rushing around with fire extinguishers and other damage control equipment in order to return the stricken ship to some order.
Eventually, he found the familiar figure of General De Juin and the Francois Admiral who he had been briefly introduced to when he had come aboard. Will tried to call out but his voice could barely manage a whimper. With so much activity going on around him he found his presence went unnoticed by everyone.
He cursed as loud as he could, although still not loud enough to be heard; he wasn't used to being ignored and the confusion along with the terrible ache in his head had already put him in a foul mood. Using what strength he could, and what willpower he could muster to stomach the nausea and dizziness that swam in his vision, he gradually pulled himself to his feet.
He attempted summoning some mana for a spell but the dull ache in his skull made it difficult to concentrate on even a simple magical formula. Instead, he tried to focus on his footing and made his way across the trembling deck towards the two officers. Forcing himself to take each pace forward and reaching out for whatever he could to support himself as he staggered over the corpses of nearby sailors.
"What the Hell is going on?" he growled in his native tongue as he approached the two senior officers, unable to force his brain to provide the translation for the men right now.
It was the Admiral that turned to answer the boy, while the General remained still and silent as he stared out at the sea, looking as though all the blood had been drained from him. Will swore he saw the man's lips quivering slightly, although whether this was an attempt to communicate or a sign of fear he could not tell.
"The Hood is firing on us!" The mariner replied glaring at the boy with undisguised loathing as he gestured out at the distant fleet. "Because of you, they would destroy us all!"
"Impossible!" Mouthed Will as he tried to get a good look out of the window. These Republicans were a neutral faction; attacking them was against the rules of war. It would be counted as a war crime! The Allied Kingdom always put on a show of playing by the rules, they'd been one of the powers involved in making most of them! It would be unthinkable for them to casually discard them; there must be some mistake!
Despite his bleary head, Will managed to pull himself high enough to see the distant Allied Navy, just in time for muzzle flashes to flicker across the fleet. It wasn't just the Hood, they were all firing in concert. This was no mistake; it was a deliberate act of destruction on Albion's part. He hadn't realised they had it in them to be so ruthless.
"It shouldn't be like this." He whispered as he watched the distant shells whiz through the air in awe, entranced by the impressive show of gunnery he was witnessing. Perhaps it was the continued disorientation he felt but he felt unable to move as his eyes followed the trajectories of the rapidly closing munitions.
Albion's legendary Navy had decided to commit to this fight completely; a force so feared at sea that no one had dared question their mastery over the waves for over a hundred years. That fighting force had decided to unleash its fury and Will felt a wave of nauseous fear as it suddenly dawned on him that he was standing on their primary target.
There was a flash followed by another roar, and a shockwave sent him flying backwards once again, sending him skidding along the floor. Moments later, Will found himself staring up in horror as he saw the ceiling ripped away with a metallic screech and a roar of flames wash over him.
He lifted his arms to cover his face, terror overwhelming him as he expected to feel the heat of the flames consume him. He'd heard burning to death was the most terrible fate imaginable but knowing that he would die so horribly only to be deleted from existence by that evil monster afterwards only made that knowledge worse. He was too frozen by fear to think and even if he had been able to, his head injury had affected his ability to manifest spells. He was done for.
"My Prince!" A familiar voice called urgently, and Will felt the wave of heat halt around him.
With fearful reluctance, he uncovered his eyes and glanced towards the source of the voice. Close behind, Sophia stood arms outstretched as she concentrated on expanding her own magic barrier to encompass him. However, he could see the effort it took on her face to hold back such a terrible explosion and he could see the flames singeing her hair and clothes as she directed her barrier away from herself in order to safely encompass him.
He felt a mix of relief and guilt as the explosion receded. Sophia staggered slightly, clearly exhausted from the effort, before a determined look returned to her face, and she strode towards him.
"Quickly Your Highness, we need to get you out of here!" She said urgently, helping Will to his feet.
"B…But De Juin we can still ..."
His voice trailed off as he turned and realised that much of the bridge was gone. The entire front section had been ripped away exposing it to the sunlight and fires burned wherever there was anything left. There was no sign of the officers he had spoken to moments ago, there was no sign that anyone had ever been on the bridge. It was as though the gunfire had deleted them completely, removed them so callously the monstrous god might have done it himself.
He stared at the devastation dumbfounded; his whirling head unable to process what was going on. How had this happened?
"Come on my prince, we need to leave." Sophia ordered, sensing his confusion and pulling him away before adding with a twinge of worry. "We need to have Christina look at that head wound."
Sophia took his hand and Will allowed himself to be led out of the ruined control room, his mind blank with confusion. She guided him down a damaged metal staircase towards the deck and he found himself pausing to stare dumbly at the sight of a dead sailor that was slumped over the railings. His aide urged him onward, and they soon exited a twisted bulkhead door out into the open air.
Again, Will found himself frozen as he looked out over the stricken battleship, or at least what he could see of it. It seemed as though the entire ship was engulfed in flames, and he could feel the acrid smoke burning his lungs as he breathed. The front of the ship had already dipped down in the water pitching the vessel forwards and he could hear the metal superstructure groaning under protest as it began to bend and twist under its own weight.
He saw sailors jumping from the ship in a desperate attempt to flee the flames, leaping out onto the dock only to be washed away by another volley from the Albish fleet. A few officers desperately tried to bark orders but were ignored as the crew scrambled around in the desperate attempt for survival.
"Shit! Christina, dock side is too hot. We're heading to the water on the starboard side." He heard his aide report with a communication spell as she urged the boy onwards towards the other side of the ship. "Can you meet us there? The prince is injured."
Sophia must have received an affirmative from her sister as she returned her attention to helping him along and avoiding the dangers of the now treacherous deck. Will did not hear it however, the smoke had done nothing to improve the whirling sensation in his head and the sound of fire, screams and explosions made it all but impossible to pick out any one noise amongst the bedlam.
He felt the smoke and exhaustion starting to overcome him and his body started to feel increasingly sluggish. Again, he felt he had to focus on every footstep as each movement seemed to rob him of all his energy. His eyes felt heavy and despite their desperate situation he had to fight the desire to stop and rest for a moment. If not for the woman urging him forwards, he doubted he could have kept going; such was his protesting body's desire to sleep.
Finally, they reached the starboard side of the ship revealing a large stretch of water that separated the Bretagne's birth from that of its sister ship opposite. The Richelieu, the second battleship, had suffered just as much as her sibling, if not more. Will managed to look up just in time to witness an Albion torpedo bomber drop its deadly cargo and deliver a final crippling blow to the vessel. A huge explosion erupted moments after the torpedo struck; leaving nothing more than scraps of metal to clog up the shipyards.
The deck pitched underneath them again, informing them that the ship would soon share the fate of its sister, but Will could not summon the energy to climb over the railing. Sophia did not give him the opportunity to find another way however as he found himself being lifted and thrown over the side, barely having time to take a breath before seawater engulfed him.
The sound of explosions became muffled as he sank slowly towards the seafloor, and he found himself unable to move or struggle as the water wrapped around him. He watched the bubbles of air escape him with a strange sense of detachment, as though he were viewing the scene through another person's eyes. He felt too tired to feel anything other than his pain and his head hurt too much to form thought coherent enough to question it.
Soon his lungs would be empty. Was this it? Was it all over?
Suddenly, he felt an arm wrap around his abdomen and begin pulling him back towards the surface. He felt the water pressure recede as they breached the surface and instinctively refilled his as he found himself being lifted onto a wooden lifeboat.
He lay in the small craft, shivering, coughing and spluttering as he struggled to regain his breath. He felt a warm and familiar presence place something soft under his head and wrap him in a blanket. He blinked his eyes drowsily to try and take in his surroundings and saw Sophia lift herself out of the water and into the other side of the boat.
"That was reckless. What if I hadn't managed to get the boat here in time?" He recognised the disapproving tones of Christina instantly as the woman chastised her sister before adding "Arm yourself, there are plenty of other sailors desperate to escape, we can't risk them flooding the boat."
"I trust you sis; you wouldn't let anything happen to us." Replied Sophia as she withdrew her pistol and fired at something outside Will's view. "Besides, it's not like I had much choice."
As if to punctuate her point, another explosion erupted from the battleship Bretagne and the ship began to slip onto its side. Will heard Christina let out a frustrated grunt of annoyance and the boat gradually began moving away from the metal husk.
"We'd better get clear before that thing drags us under. Then we should find somewhere safe to hide while I look at the prince's head wound, and we can wait for reinforcements." Said Christina, taking charge of the situation, much to Will's relief. He allowed himself to relax slightly; he could trust the sisters to look after everything, they always did.
Meanwhile, Will found himself staring blearily at the wreck of the Francois battleship as it got further and further away. The scale of destruction; it was like Arene but that had at least been legal if not morally justified. But this!
It shouldn't have happened like this, the Allied Kingdom like to follow the rules. He forced the thought through the haze and pain. It shouldn't have happened like this, it shouldn't…
For Wilhelm, the exhaustion was too much and despite the noise of destruction around him, he found himself falling into the silence of a deep slumber.
September 25th Unified Year 1925
Eastern Docks, Port of Turus 16:15
Severin Vianto stared in horror as the western docks erupted in a tide of fire and flame. Vessels that had been sat innocently inert minutes before were now engulfed by explosions and smoke, doubtless swallowing all living beings caught in them and vaporising them in an instant. A fraction of a second later, the air had filled with thunder as the sound of this visage of destruction caught up with the terrible sight in front of him. It was almost unthinkable that so much carnage could happen so quickly, he'd rarely seen any attack so ferocious.
Vianto had served on the Rhine and seen his fair share of artillery fire. As a mage, he had even performed spells designed to emulate the effect of large ordinance. He'd witnessed the devastation caused by both the creeping bombardments used to protect advancing troops and the pinpoint barrages that were to soften up the enemy strongpoints before an attack, and he'd assumed he had seen every cruelty that such large-scale weapons could inflict.
He had been wrong.
A battleship had more firepower than an artillery battery, perhaps even more than an entire artillery battalion when all its secondary armament was included. Their main guns on a battleship were much more effective than either and could fire faster and more accurately than anything on land. Only the largest railway guns could compete in sheer power as all other land-based cannons were dwarfed by their seabound cousins. With an entire fleet such of warships performing a bombardment, an unimaginable amount of firepower could be brought to bear.
The Allied Kingdom had brought that power to bear on the port city. It was both terrible and incredible in equal measure.
At first, he'd thought it must have been a mistake; a misfire or a jumpy crewmember acting without orders. Surely Winters had been bluffing when he threatened he might fire on the city. He'd agreed to allow him to evacuate the city! De Juin's broadcast was proof that he had become desperate, they could have gotten everyone out and destroy the port facilities without the Allied Kingdom ever firing a shot!
As the second volley fired, he knew it was no mistake. An entire fleet couldn't fire in concert by accident; neither could it be so accurate.
The destruction seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, as though one of the pagan gods of old had taken issue with the docked Francois fleet and decided to and enacted wreak a terrible punishment upon them. But this was not the work of a god; unless you worshipped the mighty vessels of the Allied Kingdom as so many in Albion seemed to. Neither was this a divine punishment. It was a betrayal of the highest measure.
Vianto felt a surge of fury as he rushed back towards the Strasbourg; one the destroyers that had become his makeshift headquarters for this operation. The ship's name had seemed like a good omen at the time. It had been named in defiance of the Empire, after the city that they had stolen from the Republic back when the Empire had first unified. They had hoped the valiant little ship would become a symbol of resistance for the Free Francois but now it felt as though hope was fading.
The Allied Kingdom had wounded that hope with their shameful actions.
His eyes saw nothing but crimson, his head was a sea of rage. Not since Arene had he felt such anger and despair, but that had at least been directed at the enemy. Winters, his ally, had fired on his countrymen, the very people he'd come here to save! It was an unforgivable crime, not just against the Republic but against humanity itself! How could any man be so callous?
He knew of only one other being on this earth capable of such merciless cruelty, the one they called Devil. Winters was no better than that monster. Perhaps even worse.
Vianto dashed up the gangplank of the Strasbourg, ignoring the shouts and panic of the men around him. It seemed as though every step he took was accompanied by another distant sound of cannon fire and the closer sound of explosions and he felt his fury build with every step.
He tried his best to force down his anger and maintain a clear head. Only the Western Docks had been targeted by the fleet for the moment, those loyal to De Lugo had been spared the onslaught for, a while at least. It seemed Winters was avoiding firing at Vianto's forces.
Finally, he reached the communications room and shoved the questioning communications officer out of the way, snitching his headset and receiver as he reached for the radio.
"Winters! You bastard answer me!" He yelled down the microphone, repeating his cry a few times with ever more insults directed at the admiral.
"Winters here" An infuriatingly calm voice came eventually, with the sound of the heavy guns echoing in the background of the transmission.
"What the Hell are you doing? You're firing on them! My people! Your allies!" Vianto called half in rage and half in confused despair at the loss of his countrymen.
"You heard De Juin's announcement, as far as I'm concerned that is a declaration of war!" The Admiral replied angrily, the transmission crackling slightly as he spoke. "Besides, the Bretagne turned its guns on you. If we had not fired, I might have been you under bombardment."
"That could never happen! The Sailors would have rather mutinied!" Vianto shot back instantly, refusing to believe his countrymen would ever fire on their own. "We could have won them over; we could have had the whole fleet with us!"
"I wasn't willing to take that chance, Colonel! We acted as necessary!" The admiral snapped "General De Lugo was fully aware that this may happen and sanctioned an attack if De Juin sided with the Empire, you can bring your objections to him!"
Vianto bit back another retort, the words of hatred reserved for the Admiral restrained by his loyalty to De Lugo. Had the General really known? He thought back to the words the man had given him when he had assigned him to this mission: "I trust you will do what needs to be done."
"Damnit!" He whispered to himself with clenched fists, knowing that the Admiral was technically right, even if he didn't believe the attack was justified. He would bring this up with De Lugo later, he would see Winters punished for this eventually.
"We don't have time for this colonel." The Admiral continued striking a more conciliary tone, "we need to resolve this and get the fleet moving. Begin evacuating your loyalists now, destroy anything the Imperial's can use, the fleet will handle the rest."
Vianto bit his lip, tempted to bite back at the admiral's last comment. However, something in what the admiral had said bothered him. Why was he so keen to get the fleet moving? What was the rush? There was nothing to threaten the force now. He frowned; he didn't have time to dwell on it now they needed to get moving.
He turned and saw his subordinates waiting nervously for orders.
"Speed up the evacuation, tell the captain to make ready to sail." He said eventually before glancing out a nearby porthole at the distant Allied fleet. The rage was still there burning inside, but now there was something else; a hint of worry. What has the Allied Kingdom so worried?
September 25th Unified Year 1925
SMS Prinzregent Adalbert, Deutches Meer, Jyutland Straight, 60 miles off the coast of Norden
Admiral Reinhard von Leichtenberg smiled as he watched the High Seas Fleet glide at full steam along the dark water. It was a rare and tremendous sight to behold the whole fleet deployed like this. From the mighty dreadnoughts such as his flagship, to the swift destroyers that sped along in the vanguard, each ship exemplified the superiority of Imperial technology and industry.
Soon the world would know of that superiority.
The war had been a fiasco for the navy. Its honour had been stained by inaction since the outbreak of hostilities and the news that the now deceased Vice Admiral Canaris had been passing information to the Allied Kingdom had further marred the navy's reputation. The Kaiserliche Marine had become the target of much derision from both the High command and the General Staff. There had even been rumours that the emperor himself was dismayed at their performance after he had invested so heavily in them.
It was frustrating. The army consistently mocked the high seas fleet and its inability to make a meaningful impact on the course of the conflict. They complained that while they were bleeding themselves on the Rhine, the navy was sitting at port in Fredrickshaven, acting more like cruise liners than battleships. It was outright slander; they knew the fleet's hands were tied but time and again they used this as an excuse to divert funding and resources from Leichtenberg's precious navy. Further limiting its ability to win honour and accolades for the Empire.
However, the High Command wanted results and the Navy had none to give. All it had achieved so far was a meagre contribution at Osfjord and even that was only as a result of the army feeding them table scraps of their prestige. The fleet had never been given the chance to demonstrate its abilities, every operation the navy proposed was shot down as being too expensive or risky, particularly from their critics in the army.
The trouble was, these critics were right. Warships were expensive and took a long time to repair or replace. Particularly the mighty dreadnoughts, even with extra resources diverted to their construction it could take years to build them, not to mention the cost. The thought of losing even one of these valuable vessels was enough to give the high command pause and deploying them all at once made them extremely nervous.
But that was precisely why Leichtenberg wanted to prove their worth, they were mighty weapons capable of bringing empires to their knees. They just needed to be given the chance, they needed to be let off the leash.
Aside from Osfjord and a few skirmishes at the beginning of the war, the navy had been unable to act. The combined forces of Francois and Legadonian navies had been comparable in size to the High Seas Fleet and the high command had been unwilling to risk drawing them into a decisive battle. They feared a loss that would expose the Vaterland to amphibious assault. As though their inferior ships could ever match Imperial steel.
Since the Allied Kingdom's entry into the war, the fear of the high command had only gotten worse. Even Grand Admiral von Holtzendorf seemed cowed by the Commonwealth gryphon, although Leichtenberg could understand why.
The Allied Kingdom had long implemented a policy of having enough ships to beat the next two largest fleets combined. Where the Empire had to carefully rationed its national resources to counter all the national security threats posed by their neighbours, the Allied Kingdom had the luxury of pouring all of their power into their navy. They could afford to leave themselves a token army, only capable of putting down the natives of their colonies so that they could keep an enormous navy.
However, numbers weren't everything and Leichtenberg firmly believed the Imperials were better armed, better crewed and better led than their Albish counterparts. Quality could trump quantity if the right opportunity presented itself and they had been presented an unprecedented chance to humble the so-called rulers of the waves.
Although the Allied Kingdom had initially bolstered the forces defending their homeland, they didn't dare leave their shipping lanes unprotected. Grand Admiral von Holtzendorf had been using their U boats to molest as much shipping as possible. They may not have been able to use Holtzendorf's plan of unrestricted submarine warfare, but they could still divert the Commonwealth's attention. Many of the Commonwealth's ships had been diverted to protect the shipping from their colonial assets.
Meanwhile, the Grand Admiral had been informed by Illdoans that a sizeable detachment from the Albish home fleet had been detached for special operations in the Southern Sea, a fact confirmed by the expeditionary force down there. It seemed Zettour's little sideshow had drawn their foe's attention. Although still numerically superior, the Allied Home fleet was vulnerable. It was now at the weakest it had been since they entered the war, and it was time to strike and prove the Empire's supremacy at sea.
They would beat Albion's legendary fleet in a decisive strike, they would prove that the army wasn't the only one's capable of performing miracles. Once defeated, the Allied Kingdom would likely sue for peace, if not their island would be open to invasion. The Imperial Navy would once prove its power once and for all! Not with simple arithmetic, but with tactics, cunning and skill.
The army may have mocked them, but they hadn't been idle during their stay in Fredrickshaven. Leichtenberg had not allowed his sailors a moment's respite and every day not at sea he had made them perform gunnery drills until they functioned like a well-oiled machine.
Meanwhile, they had deployed what remaining U boats they had available near Albish ports to report on enemy movements and harry them as they set sail. They had Zeppelins and seaplanes deployed all across the Deutsches Meer, reporting on all fleet movements and compositions. When battle was joined, Leichtenberg would be dictating the terms, now it was a case of drawing their enemy out.
He turned and glanced at the battlecruiser SMS Prinz Josef on his port side. It and its sister ships had both speed and firepower, perhaps that could be used to his advantage.
He called for his aide and a young officer promptly appeared at his side. He saw no reason to enter the bridge to issue his fleet orders, he was enjoying the sea air too much to bother himself with that right now. It was just as easy to have the lieutenant here pass on his orders.
"Have Vice Admiral von Ritter take the battlecruiser squadron and a handful of cruisers to raid the Albish coastline. Let's see if we can tempt the enemy out of their little nest in Scapa flow." He ordered, trusting the officer to pass on the order as he stared out over the ocean.
He smiled, soon the good name of the navy would be redeemed. No longer would they be known as floating hotels, instead they would be known as conquerors. History would remember the battle of Jyutland as the day where the Empire won this war.
Authors notes
Hi everyone and thank you all as always for reading, reviewing, follows and favourites.
I had hoped to have this chapter out earlier but unfortunately, I've been quite ill recently and have struggled to get as much done as I would like. It is my hope that me not being well hasn't adversely effected this chapter too much but if it has I apologise.
I decided to change some things to help clear up some issues that I foresee in the plot developing. It might mean that some sections in this part seem a little confusing but it should make sense soon. In the meantime, Tanya will be back next chapter to sort things out in Turus.
Again I will remind you that if you visit Deviant art and search for the user: Lord0Solus, you will find the full cover of the Saint and the Purpose of Conflict by Vickers-Vimy-1919 as well as the Letzenbourg flag and some artwork of Sophia and Christina.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter and thank you again for reading.
Xanen