The Coming of the Storm
Looking back upon history, it is easy to say that our predecessors should have done better, and blame them accordingly. The disaster at Pzemisyl, for instance, or the fact that the entire Sandwing War of Succession – which from now on will be called The Great War, or World War I instead of The War to End All Wars – or the fact that the entire Sandwing War of Succession was based upon a misunderstanding.
We could've done better, we say. Obviously some general should've reinforced this position instead of that, attacked at a better time, used better tactics or strategy. Yet the fog of war is a tricky thing, and a decision in the heat of battle is a much different animal than one made by a historian laboriously documenting the annals of the past.
Never has this been demonstrated so well as in the Hivewing invasion of the eastern sub-continent.
Caelon, joint Mudwing/Seawing fortress, June 27th 5,015; located along the Eastern Island chain.
It was a day just like any other day at the fort; a cool, misty dawn had turned into a cool, foggy morning, but by noon the fog had been dispelled by the warm sun and the water was perfect. Not that it mattered to Marshweed, who was the only warrant officer on duty at that time of day, the other two having taken leave last night.
They wouldn't be back until tomorrow afternoon. It was a small fort, Caelon, smaller than most, but that didn't mean much when it was located in the middle of nowhere; what with the main body of Pyrhhia some 1,200 miles to the west, it had never been threatened during the Great War.
Built to protect against a possible threat from the ocean almost two-hundred years ago, it was understaffed, underfunded and undermaintained, a backwater place used mostly for recruiting. After the end of the war there had even been talk to scrap the installation, but fortunately it had been repurposed for research and development.
After all, few would think that the newly-reformed Seawing/Mudwing alliance would be developing their newest secret weapon in this old place.
Made out of the newfound 'running pitch' extracted from the southern tar sands, it was an inciendiary designed for defense against a land-based enemy. At first it had been called napalm, but some clever soldier had come up with a much better name for it since. Hellfire.
The answer to the Sandwing and Skywing cactus bombs that had proved so deadly for twenty years during the War.
It was the best-kept secret on the continent, and it had only been live-tested once, in 5,011, the last year of that great conflict. The results had been so horrifying, so deadly and against so many tenets of morality that the project had nearly been shelved. Five hundred gallons of a prototype recipe had been poured into an enemy cave system, then set alight.
The conflagration burned for weeks, and when intel finally ventured in to see what had happened, more than one spook lost his dinner. Only a few bodies had survived, and those that had were nearly unrecognizable as dragons, charred beyond all belief, their scales liquefying and turning to glass. It served as only a small mercy to the investigators that an autopsy ruled the cause of death as smoke inhalation.
If any other government heard of this, if the dragonets of destiny heard of this, if even the royalty of their own kingdoms heard of this then, then heads would roll. Literally. Even in this 'civilized' age beheading was still a legal and exercised punishment in some places.
So experimentation with the stuff had been halted for a while, and it was only now, four years later, that Special Armaments was looking into it again.
And it was because of this on that fine day that Marshweed was keeping an eye out for anything that didn't fit in with the ordinary, whatever that was on this base. And what he was seeing now was definitely out of the ordinary.
A lone dragon flying towards the fort, obviously exhausted, barely able to stay above the surface of the sea.
"Get me a spyglass," commanded Marshweed. The order was relayed to the SaS officer (Services and Supply), a spyglass was found, and soon Marshweed was peering at this curious dragon.
First off, whoever it was was green. Not just any light green, but a dark, rich green. Perhaps it was a Rainwing then, but as Marshweed peered closer he realized that Rainwings weren't known for having spines, which the newcomer did have.
Was it a hybrid? If so, this could be an interesting opportunity for R&D, who already ran a division devoted to finding what made those peculiar dragons tick. Marshweed didn't know what was worse; that he was actually contemplating the idea of handing over a dragon to those conniving psychos, or that those conniving psychos were actually allowed to run experiments on innocent dragons.
The find was told to a sergeant, who told his superior, who told his superior, who told his superior, who was the commander of the base, a major general, no less, and the major general ordered that this newcomer be brought into the base and secured in the brig until an interrogation team could be mustered and higher-ups could be contacted to decide what to do about all this.
In the usual fashion he, or it, was designated Hybrid One, or H-1, until further notice.
All this wasn't important to Marshweed, of course, who received the order and went out to fetch Hybrid One, along with a wing of sixteen soldiers and another wing as backup, just to make sure that if Hybrid One decided to put up a fight it would be outnumbered and restrained with as little fuss as possible.
The general had been explicit; H-1 must be captured alive at all costs.
They reached the dragon in about twenty minutes of flying and pulled up alongside it, or rather, her, for the dragon was a she.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?" asked Marshweed, prepared for a confrontation, but there was none.
The newcomer held up a talon, signalling that she couldn't speak because she was out of breath. They put her in a sling and brought her back to base, and during the journey questions were asked.
Her name was Swordtail, she said, and she was a Leafwing from another continent, Pantala, escaping from the tyrannical Hivewings.
When she was asked who the Hivewings were, she made an obscene gesture and gritted her teeth. They were nemesis of the Leafwings, she said, dangerous dragons who had committed genocide on her people and even now were on their way to burn Pyrhhia to the ground.
Marshweed was skeptical, but then he'd been skeptical during the Darkstalker debacle and look how that had turned out. So he listened to what she had to say.
"Why are they coming here?" he asked. "They've left us alone this long, why not now?"
"Because they are expanding. Their Queen is bloodthirsty, and their tribe is running out of space. They destroyed the forests of my people, and if you do not fight back they will destroy you."
Even after they'd put her in the brig she stuck to her story, at times angry at the disbelief of the Seawings and Mudwings, whom she deemed fools, but otherwise completely rational.
No one could've known what she said was true at the time, but Major General Arrow decided that the threat, while perhaps exaggerated by Swordtail, could still be credible, and he arranged for a courier to leave for Seawing High Command – the non-royal one -, tomorrow morning, because it was too late for one to be sent now.
In the meantime a few dragons were found that had used to be on interrogation crews, and they were sent to the brig to confirm Swordtail's story.
She told them everything, or almost everything, although they didn't know that.
The Hivewings had ambushed her and a gathering of her tribe in the poison jungle, along with two Seawings whose names were – and here she stuttered, obviously not having the best grip of the Pyrhhian language; Big Wave and Turtle.
Hivewings were hive creatures, she explained, and their Queen could use mind control (something the interrogators didn't believe at first). What one Hivewing saw, they all saw, and any escapees were quickly rounded up and taken prisoner. She had only gotten away because she'd had to relieve herself and so managed to evade the main body of enemies.
It sounded too farfetched to be credible at that point, and for the next two days Swordtail languished while all sorts of communication went on between the fort and the High Commands of both the Mud Kingdom and that of the Seawings.
That was before the first piece of news arrived of another refugee from the north who the Dragonets of Destiny had taken an interest in (at this there was a groan from all involved). The dragon's name was Luna, and she also had news of what was going on in this overseas continent. It was confirmed that the Hivewings had mind control and telepathy over their own tribe, as well as a strong military presence.
Oh, and they practiced slaveryc, and they had four wings, and they had poisonous tails not unlike the Sandwings (who had been a pain to fight). And now everything made perfect sense. Big Wave was Tsunami, the crown princess of the Seawing Kingdom, and now she had been captured by hostiles. The threat was real, and it was coming.
It is reputed that Queen Coral's first reaction was to mobilize the Royal Marines at once.
Alas, she was far too late.
July 1st, 5,015; Seagull Islands, located in the Great Western Ocean.
The Queen's army is vast; covering the surface of the atolls like bees on honeycomb. The Queen's army is organized; perfect columns of freighters and soldiery descending and ascending like a swarm of hornets. The Queen's army is loyal; all hail their commanding officers with patriotic fervor. Most of all, the Queen's army is victorious.
They had come to the islands like a sudden storm, appearing from the horizon like driving hail, whence they fell upon those few Seawings there – who had apparently been using the place as a research station – and slaughtered them; of the thirty who had been there to begin with, only one remained, and he had been taken back to the continent for indoctrination as a slave.
It would hardly have been a fight for a militia, let alone the proud 1st army, which at present was only composed of two cohorts of 35,000 each, for logistical reasons.
Each cohort was composed of three divisions, which in turn were composed of three orders, which in turn were composed of three regiments, which in turn were made of three brigades, which trickled down to battalions, which trickled down to companies, which were made of three wings, which were made of the most basic military structure possible, the flight of four.
70,000 in all (not including support battalions), the largest outside invading force Pyrhhia had ever seen in over 5,000 years. All these dragons had to be watered and fed and trained and trained and trained, and kept well supplied with weaponry and what passed for armor in those days – oh yes, they were planning an upgrade, but for now things had to stay minimal because of the material cost – and all that, which meant the cost would be staggering.
Each soldier was only allowed to write one letter home per week, but it added up, and the Army Mail Service was forced to transport almost a ton a day, no small feat when it is considered that the distance between the Seagulls' and Pantala was over a thousand miles and five hundred.
All this could not have proceeded without the blessing of Her Highness, and the venture would surely have collapsed if it were not for her impeccable planning and strong-willed support.
Even now the last cohort of 1st army was on its way, but the generals wanted to get the ball rolling, and soon. Already word had been received that several traitors had, by devious maneuverings and dishonorable tactics, managed to escape to this new continent and warn their piddling leaders of the great invasion.
Whether they would be believed or not was an open question, but Hivewings preferred to take no chances. Already the first orders were taking to the sky for the long haul flight, 9 in all in a majestic V formation, V for Victory. They were the probing force, the first feelers of an unstoppable juggernaut, but even their presence would shake the weaklings in Pyrhhia to their very core – or so the generals thought. After all, 2nd cohort meant business.
In one of her rare fits of what passed for happiness in the existence of Queen Wasp, she allowed herself to smile. The rebels at home had almost been wiped out, and their suppression would only be the beginning notes of a world-wide opera, one that would end in her ultimate rule.
Yes, today was a good day in the foundation of the Empire.
Author's Note:
I had quite a lot of fun writing this a few years ago, quite a lot of fun. I've gone a long way since I put it up. If you want to be part of the (small) community you can check out my discord at hittips colon slash slash discord dot gg slash nUDjBjB
Thanks! And if you liked the chapter and the chapters ahead, do drop a review. It makes my day.