Kitchen, Residence of the United States Envoy, Esthirant, Parpaldian Empire
"Good morning, Parpaldia!"
Vlad Baris poured two mugs of instant coffee as the Armed Forces Radio Service broadcast started at 6:00 a.m.
"Today is Monday, October 15, 2001. Here in Esthirant, it is cloudy with a temperature of 51 degrees Fahrenheit. We expect it to remain cloudy with a 30 percent chance of light rain into the evening before transitioning to clear night skies with a low of 48 degrees and a high of 55. The weather is predicted to become fairer over this week until Saturday, which is good news for those of you who aren't still in quarantine. If you still are, at least the majority of you offshore have lights. The folks stuck in residence with Mister Leach can't even turn on the magical lamps in their rooms and have to rely on their flashlights. Hope you recover soon, Mister Ambassador-Designate."
Vlad slid a mug over to William. Luckily, the senior-level FSO had recovered relatively quickly, and after two more days of cautionary quarantine, he had finally been allowed out of his room today. Unfortunately for the mission, Howard H. Leach was not so lucky. The old man was still battling against the Parpaldian flu.
"Now, the news from home. Over in Detroit, Michigan, two groups of plainclothes officers from the 11th and 12th precincts had a blue-on-blue incident when they both attempted to raid the same house last night. The officers of the 12th Precinct were pretending to be drug dealers to catch would-be customers in a sting operation. Sounds simple, right? The only problem was the 12th Precinct officers were operating in 11th Precinct territory and hadn't notified the 11th Precinct command of their operation. Things went out of hand when 11th Precinct officers pretended to be customers and then pulled out their guns in an attempt to arrest the undercover 12th Precinct officers. In the chaos, shots were fired, and an officer from the 11th was taken to hospital with life-threatening injuries.
The Detroit Police Chief Charles Wilson called the incident 'highly embarrassing' and vowed reforms to ensure tighter inter-precinct coordination to prevent a reoccurrence once an investigation has been completed. Retired police officers said the disaster reflected the relative inexperience of US police forces in conducting anti-drug operations since the Transference cut off Americans from the recreational drug parties at the casino resorts in Cuba. In response, the pre-Transference Cuban ambassador to the United States offered his advice to Detroit's mayor Dennis Archer, referring to Cuba's long history of crushing illegal drug gangs that attempted to operate outside the Cuban licensing regime created in the 1960s. Mayor Archer declined, citing his unwillingness to resort to the Mafia-origin methods of the Cuban Commission."
As the radio continued with the news, William Harris finished his coffee. Vlad took the opportunity to ask a question.
"So, has the roster for the trip to the continent of Rodenius been finalized?"
"Yes. Patricia and I will form the US diplomatic component. You and PFC Sharps are on as translators."
"They're splitting the duo?"
"Arthur is needed here to handle all the diplomats that want to talk to us in Esthirant. We're short on experienced personnel. Besides, the Muans indicated that certain parts of the culture in Roedenius make having Patricia along in particular valuable. She's improved the most at speaking Latin- I mean Lourin out of all of us in the Foreign Service. If the Lourian Queen suddenly invites her to tea, she'll be able to hold her own.
Back to the topic of the trip, geologists, engineers, surveyors, and lawyers from ExxonMobil and Freeport-McMoRan will be with us to conduct a preliminary feasibility study of potential deposits and to help negotiate around the Concordat's legal hurdles on building the necessary infrastructure for extraction in the Kingdom of Quila. Along with the Muan component, who we'll meet in Jin-Hark, and our joint security team, medical staff, and two reporters, it's forty-eight people. When we're together, Latin- Lourin will be the lingua franca of our expedition.
One of the two reporters is actually with us here in residence; you might have met him. You haven't? He's Kevin Wright of Rolling Stone. That's a magazine that covers US pop culture, music, and politics… This trip is politics. He'll be out on one last trip to the capital today, so I'll introduce you to him tomorrow morning. Anyways, the hired local guard force and transport staff will bring us up to sixty."
"A party just large enough to deter most groups of highwaymen then."
William sighed. "I wish we were allowed to bring guns into Fantasyland."
"I think it's interesting that the Convention on Cultural Preservation and Protection of the Lands of Rodenius prevents anything more advanced than arquebuses for personal security."
"Having a few arquebuses would provide less firepower at our group size than going fully medieval with crossbows. Every Marine, a rifleman. Except when on occasion, they must carry only crossbows and bayonet blades to protect the ignorance of the medieval Amish."
"I'm sure the Marines protecting us will have all the training they need with a crossbow by the time we arrive in Jin-Hark. Plus, we'll be wearing stab vests and are always just a rotodyne flight away by satellite phone."
"I think you're way too optimistic here, Doctor."
"I think you'll find that medieval security is better than some places in the United States."
"Like where?"
"Detroit."
"Pff. Look at how civilization quickly crumbles merely by teleporting to another world… Speaking of crumbling, I recall that the Concordat had an explicit exception on permanent infrastructure for allowing modern monitoring and alarm stations, mainly operated by the Milishials, to give early warning of 'superwaves,' earthquakes, landslides, floods, volcanic eruptions, etcetera. Did the Muans include anything on the plan for those emergencies?"
"Did I not hand you that final section of the mission plan last night? It also included insurance details."
"No, the documents you gave me ended with the section on 'in case of attack.'"
"Aaggh, Sharpe must have forgotten to update his Word doc to the final revision before printing it out. Here, take my copy to read for now. I'll get the missing section printed out and double-check Sharpe's printed copy."
Upstairs from the Kitchen in the Foyer
Lance Corporal Enrique Martinez's Sergeant looked at the equipment laid out on the table. As he checked off a list, soldiers would pack them into their assault packs. "Ponchos, check. Satellite phone, check. Kodak cameras, check. Wallets filled with Parpaldian thalers, check. Parpaldian identification papers, check. 24-hour day passes, check. Rolling Stone reporter, check."
A couple of chuckles went around the group.
As a reward for working excessive hours for the past two weeks due to the incapacitation of two-thirds of the Marines on site, the officers, in their benevolent wisdom, decided to reward those remaining Marines with special 24-hour day passes to tour around Esthirant. However, these 24-hour passes had a catch. As the first group of American tourists travelling around and being a general nuisance to the local population, they were tasked with making notes about Parpaldian culture and the suitability of the area for tourism by American citizens. In other words, catch food poisoning from the local cuisine and get robbed at knifepoint. Then, rate their experience one out of five stars.
Sergeant managed to snag the first round of passes on account of the group of fives' role in providing exceptional, rigorously collected intel to command. Therefore, they were perfect for securing additional intel. As a side effect of being first, they became babysitters to Rolling Stone reporter Kevin Wright, who stood out in his dark brown T-shirt amongst the Marines who replaced their BDUs with the khaki long sleeves and tie Service "B" uniforms. The rest of the squad, who were suffering in bed all week, got to stay on base and pick up discarded cigarettes off the ground as the five Marines enjoyed their day off with the reporter.
"Last, but most importantly, 1-quart canteens filled with water for hydration, check. Always remember to hydrate. Before we go, as you all know, the itinerary leaves a lot of free time after dinner. Doctor Varshavski has required me to inform you that STDs are endemic across the ladies of the night here in Parpaldia. Worse than any shore leave in Thailand. He strongly advises you not to partake in such fun lest you lose your balls and receive a new nickname. Is that all clear?"
"Yes, Sergeant," chorused the Marines, some with a tone of resigned disappointment.
"Alright, let's move out. Don't lag behind Mister Wright."
By consulting an itinerary with written directions, badly mispronouncing questions from a newly compiled phrasebook to a Parpaldian slidercar fare collector, and confused pointing from said Parpaldian, the group eventually made it to the Imperial War Museum amidst many a curious stare by a local. After paying the entrance fee, they wandered around the same galleries that the US delegation had been in over a couple of weeks prior. Their curiosity for military history satisfied, though they had no understanding of the exhibit descriptions since Latin was no one's strong suit, they left for lunch.
The itinerary recommended having lunch at one of the many nearby saloons catering to workers. The Marines had earlier learned from the Parpaldian staff of the residence that saloons were well known for their two-groschen beer with 'free' lunch, so they followed the itinerary's advice. Upon walking down the street and passing by many packed working-class saloons, they eventually found spots at a lesser-packed premium saloon that catered to top hat-wearing businessmen.
Like the rest of the saloons here, the saloon was narrow, consisting of a bar on one side and small four-square tables on the other that ran deep into the building away from the street. Its premium status was denoted by the white and black checkerboard-patterned wooden floor and a chandelier hanging from a vaulted ceiling. Importantly this saloon appeared cleaner than the others as new cutlery was regularly brought out to the bar from the kitchen. This contrasted greatly with the sight of cutlery wiped with a heavily used cloth and then being dunked into a jar of water for reuse at the bar in the cheaper saloons.
With the rapid flow of customers quickly picking up a glass of beer, eating a few bites either sitting at a table or standing at the bar counter, and then rushing back to work, the saloon seemed like the drunken equivalent of a Starbucks. The crowd within their chosen lunch spot quieted for a moment and gave curious stares at the mostly uniformed group of foreigners.
The Sergeant walked up to the bartender and held up six fingers. "Bior."
The bartender nodded, "Seħs bior." He placed a glass under a tap and pulled down the handle. Beer started pouring. "Sind jī Muan?"
"Hmm?"
The bartender pointed at himself with his free hand. "Parpaldian." He pointed at the Sergeant and the others. "Muan?"
The Sergeant finally understood his question. He shook his head before pointing towards himself with a thumb. "American."
The bartender's eyes widened a bit. "American?" He paused the flow of beer and grabbed something before placing it on the counter. He pointed at the stamped newspaper drawing of the American ships off the coast. "American?"
Everyone nodded dumbly.
The man chuckled. He talked to the other bar staff as he quickly finished filling the rest of the glasses and placed them up on the counter. "Fiuwartweintiħ groschens." He held up his thumb and index finger before adding two other fingers. Upon seeing their blank looks, the bartender separated one glass from the rest and pointed at it. "Fiuwar." He pointed at the others, repeating the word for the rest. Then he held four fingers counting from the thumb.
"Oh, four."
The bartender confused the Sergeant's words for mispronunciation. "Fiuwar."
"Twenty-four in total, everyone."
"Fiuwartweintiħ?"
One by one, everyone slapped down four silver coins each on the counter. The bartender took the coins and allowed them to take their drinks. As they did so, the saloon grew noisy again as the patrons' attention moved on from the Americans.
When the American delegation arrived, they exchanged gold for thaler at the current market price of 276 dollars to 28.9 thalers per ounce of gold. Thus with thirty groschens to a thaler, the four-groschen beer and lunch cost around $1.27, less than a now missed $2.29 Big Mac in the last months of 2001 before the Transference.
The free lunch was closer to a charcuterie board ordered as an appetizer in a European-style restaurant. It consisted of a self-serve selection of cream soup, pickled vegetables, cured meat, cheese, and crackers laid out across the counter. However, as it was a buffet and they were not constrained by needing to head back to work quickly, the Americans promptly filled their plates. They ate two to three times the typical amount of food before heading back out with filled stomachs.
Next was the Natural History Museum, where they viewed the usual mineral and fossil displays in the main halls before stumbling on quite disturbing exhibits on the Ancient Sorcerors' creation of new species split off from existing animals in its special gallery of unnatural history. Enrique Martinez knew his dreams tonight would be haunted by an artist's speculatory oil painting of a one-and-a-half-head failure hanging between the fossils of the sea wyrm and sea drake.
As they walked towards the slidercar stop, Kevin Wright pointed out at some Parpaldians to the group. "Look over there, newsboys!"
Boys in round caps were standing on the sidewalk near the stop with newspapers in hand. They were young, not older than maybe fifteen. Disconcertingly to the Americans, a couple of boys who looked ten or eleven even appeared to be smoking pipes. "Fiuwar pfennigs!" cried out one as a passerby dropped four copper coins into a tin and took one of the offered newspapers. One of the smoking boys blew out a perfect ring of white smoke.
"The Wall Street Journal reporter, Ben, is working on a piece about child labour here in Parpaldia. Children are predominant in tool repairs, textile, glassware, and of course farming. Children work everywhere in factories, on the streets, and even at home. The administration's going to have a hard time making a verified list of non-sweatshop imports while they draft a trade deal."
"Are the tea sets made by children?" asked one of the Marines.
"I'm not sure. They might be involved in cleaning the insides of teapots like with glass bottles."
The Marine sighed, "I guess I'll hold on buying gifts."
Martinez checked his Timex watch. "It's after 2 pm. Do these kids go to school in the mornings?"
"Those who can afford not to work in the morning attend primary school, which is why we didn't see a lot of them earlier. However, these newsboys aren't paid like a kid on a newspaper route. Ben told me they buy bundles of 100 newspapers from the publisher at two pfennigs each paper for sale at four. There are twelve pfennigs to a groschen. That's a theoretical profit of about fifty US cents per bundle. Then they spend all day selling as much of their stock as possible before heading home for dinner if they have a family. If not, they'll work into the night before scrambling to where the rest of the orphans shelter."
"They're as young as my kids…" muttered the Sergeant.
They passed the hollering children, paid the fair, piled into a slidercar and rode the lengthy journey across the city to Esthirant's defining architectural feature, the Saint Ta Lou Cathedral. They arrived around 6:20 p.m. With its ten-story tall golden dome and marble columns towering over the low city skyline, most commonly five stories tall at most, it was a remarkable feat of engineering reminiscent of neoclassical architecture.
After paying the entrance fee, the group entered a relatively brightly lit marbled interior as sunlight poured through stained glass windows. An immense eight-story polished bronze statue of a human man looked down upon them, armoured in lamellar and armed with a sword and shield like a Herculean figure. The stained glass reliefs matched the militaristic tone given by the statue. Each depicted two armies, one green-faced and one not, fighting in different locations, with many prominently depicting a swordsman fighting and eventually killing a large white figure with two horns on its head.
Kevin Wright snapped many photos, without flash, thanks to the plentiful natural light, of nearly everything in the room first before commenting on one of the earlier windows. "That one has a Star Wars-level laser fight in the background."
In the background of one of the battles, orange and black dressed figures carried long black sticks that fired green beams into the green-faced black-armoured army running away in the midground. A black banner rose above the laser-wielding figures with a white five-pointed star in the center. The laser-wielding soldiers appeared in the following series of windows that ended with the one depicting a grey wall facing a desert.
"Mages?" wondered Enrique.
"Whoever they are, I certainly hope they're not blasting lasers away with their staffs," said the Sergeant. "I'll ask a question about it."
The group once again fumbled their way through a question to one of the cathedral's staff on the identity of the unknown figures depicted. In the end, the only thing they managed to figure out from the Parpaldian woman was that the figures were men. Men of what army? Who knows? Despite her best, sincere efforts, none of the additional descriptors for the depicted men or the weapons they used were within the Marine phrasebooks. After giving up, the group wandered around the publicly accessible areas and admired the decorations before a steady stream of people filling the benches under the dome signalled it was time for them to leave before the religious service started at 7 p.m.
The planned itinerary ended with dinner at Harvel's Old Established Ladies and Gentlemen's Oyster Saloon and Restaurant. The suggestion had first worried the group on how clean the oysters would be when they received the itinerary yesterday, as the near Victorian nature of Parpaldia conjured out images of raw sewage and cholera pouring directly down the rivers into the ocean. A discussion with the good doctor alleviated their worries. Tests confirmed the water quality here was better than in New York City.
The restaurant was located on the ground floor of Grand Union Terminal, which stood out in the night as it emitted warm, yellow light from its many light gems. An almost obscene number of chandeliers lit every inch of the station. As the itinerary helpfully pointed out in Parpaldia, customers would seat themselves at a free table; they avoided awkwardly waiting at the entrance like Rubes and found a large table. All the menus were written on chalkboards along the red wooden walls, and to everyone's surprise and delight, each raw oyster only cost one groschen. Their initial plan to share two dozen raw oysters quickly became an extravagant order of a dozen for each person, along with orders for oyster soup, oyster pie, baked oysters, and beer. Between slurps of oyster, they debated how high the prices would quickly rise once American tourists began visiting in mass the following year. Then they moved on to many other topics of discussion. Many of them centred around Kevin Wright and his well-travelled lifestyle.
With full stomachs and warm faces, they finished their meals and paid before wandering into a slidercar to take them back to the residence. As the slidercar's headlamps illuminated the road ahead as they glided through the night, someone commented that this place would match any tourism site in Western Europe if only they were able to flush the magical toilets.
Enrique was suddenly thrown from his seat in the back when the slidercar suddenly stopped. Someone screamed in a high pitch.
"What's going on?" asked Kevin.
"Quiet, Mister Wright. You alright, Lance Corporal?"
Everyone's bags plopped on the floor of the slidercar cushioned his fall. "I'm good, Sergeant."
Banging on a window drew their attention forward. Standing up, Enrique saw a woman outside, screaming something at them. Then she ran across the street. The slidercar began accelerating and then stopped as two more shouting women ran in front of the vehicle.
"Corporal Fisher, engage the emergency stop."
Fisher pulled down on a handle next to the console, disconnecting the spellthreads linking slidercar's gems and therefore preventing the vehicle from moving. Unfortunately, being 'giftless,' they could not turn it back on.
"Everyone out except for Mister Rolling Stone. Stay inside where it's safer."
The Marines opened the door and piled out with their bags in their hands as makeshift weapons. The two women ran up to them, babbling incomprehensively.
"I don't speak Parpaldian. No hablo Parpaldian," said the Sergeant with his bag out to keep them at a safe distance from him. It was too dark to see anyone clearly, as the streets here had minimal lighting.
The women still shouted, pointing off into the dark alley they had come from. A figure emerged out of it towards them while screaming what Enrique thought were likely to be obscenities.
A white light suddenly engulfed the figure as a Marine trained a flashlight on the unknown. The sudden brightness caused the man to shield his eyes with his left arm and stop in his tracks. A gleam reflected from something silver in his right hand.
"Knife!" shouted someone.
"Lance, get the ladies to safety!" yelled the Sergeant.
As the assailant started running with the tip of a knife pointed toward them, Enrique slid open the door to their assigned civilian's exclaimed confusion and quickly pulled and pushed the ladies into the compartment. He slid the door shut again and turned around to see the attacker lunge toward the Sergeant to stab him. The Marine blocked it with his bag and let the blade sink deeply into it. Without giving the hostile time to pull it back out, he drove the bag towards the ground, forcing the knife and its wielder downwards before giving him a good kick to the face.
A clatter signalled the attacker had dropped his weapon as he used both hands to cup his broken, bleeding nose right before disappearing beneath a mass of bodies as Enrique and the rest of the Marines made him the bottom of a football pile-up. They slowly disentangled from the mess while making sure the assailant was properly restrained.
"Someone pass me a zip tie."
Enrique found one in his bag. "Here."
Zip.
"Hostile secured, and under my control."
The Sergeant looked at the Marine holding the attacker down with his hands bound behind the back. Then he assessed the situation.
"Good job, Marines. We'll stay here until the local authorities arrive. Corporal Fisher. I need your light to read."
"Yes, Sergeant."
Under Fisher's light, the Sergeant eventually found what he was looking for in the phrasebook. As he walked over to the slidercar, the door opened.
"Is it over?" asked Kevin Wright.
"It's safe for now. Ladies, may I have your attention? Policei?"
Two heads peered around the door.
The Sergeant pointed at the man on the ground. "Policei."
A high-pitched whistle sounded as two tophat-wearing policemen ran onto the scene, holding flashlights in their left hands. The two women ran out of the slidercar and hugged the woman following the police. After a moment, the women separated. The two witnesses pointed at the Marines and the assailant while chattering with the police.
Eventually, the two policemen walked over and shined a light at the attacker. The bound man lifted his head and shouted what the Marines assumed to be obscenities before spitting blood on the ground toward their feet. In response, one of the police waved off the Marine holding down the attacker and held out what Enrique thought was a simple baton. He was quickly corrected when a gem embedded at the top of the baton glowed blue before the police tapped the still-shouting criminal with it. There was a pop and then a yelp as a flash of lightning passed from the gem into the bleeding man. He spasmed and promptly shut up as if he was tased.
The other policeman picked up the knife and wrapped it in cloth as the criminal was hauled up to his feet. He pointed at the slidercar and seemed to motion everyone inside.
Enrique stretched his arms and yawned as the adrenaline wore off before following everyone. It was going to be a long night.
Outside of the North Walls Military Wyvern Shelter, Maihark, Principality of Qua-Toyne
Dame Captain Ine watched beams glitter in the dark near the Maihark Gate. The harbour chain tower's light gem searchlights prowled over the water with yellow illumination, searching for any Lourian ships that dared get close to it. Lourian galley searchlights illuminated the Gate in turn, attempting to blind the tower's artillerists while remaining safely out of range. The night was dark as a cloudy sky blocked the reflected illumination of the Tears.
The crushing defeat of the Ëaron Liyúmë, the Great Fleet, had major consequences for Qua-Toyne's defensive efforts. Lourian soldiers landed at the undeveloped beach west of Maihark and deployed to invest the port city's south landward walls. Their artificers quickly erected a wooden circumvallation to keep reinforcements from attacking their siege lines' rear, and they followed up with contravallation construction to prevent a breakout from the city. The Lourian Navy blockaded the overwater routes out of the harbour to complete the investment.
By threatening a march from Maihark to the capital, the Qua-Toynian's mustering forces would be forced to face the Lourians here instead of relieving the besieged garrison at Fortress Ejey. This placed pressure on the main Qua-Toynian army to quickly win a decisive battle and secure Maihark before the Lourians overrun Ejey with their superior local numbers.
The Princess herself wrote the orders that tied Ine to the city. Ine was to hold Maihark for as long as possible. She and her troops must endure a siege and resist the enemy until resistance becomes impossible. So Ine ordered the harbour chain raised and evacuated the remaining wyverns to operate from fields outside the city along with the convoys of most of the city's inhabitants. Then she watched the Lourian soldiers arrive and quickly erect wooden walls and towers. The practiced construction efforts proved the Lourians' professed expertise in siege warfare. The Lourians fended off the night raids she sent to try to burn their field fortifications down. Lourian searchlights inevitably caught the raiders in the open land between the opposing sides and chased them away with a barrage of arbalest and ballista shots.
The Lourians attempted night raids of their own. The first night, galleys approached the Maihark Gate to disgorge troops on the breakwater connecting the tower to the harbour-side walls of Maihark. The tower's artillery repulsed the attack with supporting barrages from the few Qua-Toynian light galleys anchored in defensive positions behind the harbour chain. Further attempts were made on other nights, each varying in angle of approach and strength. All were repulsed.
During the day, Lourian wyverns flew over and spat fireballs at the city's buildings below. Soldiers and civilians could do nothing but evacuate to the wyvern shelters. Maihark's anti-wyvern ballistae did not have the range to engage the high-altitude bombardment of the Lourian wyverns. They had a short window of impunity before Qua-Toynian wyverns would arrive and chase them away from the skies above. Much of the remaining labour force in the city spent their time putting out fires and repairing damage to the defences.
Ine heard footsteps approach as a familiar voice called out to her, "Dame, it's late. You should go inside and get some rest. I can take command of the watch."
She turned to see Sir Keith, one of the knights under her command, and her most trusted adjutant.
She sighed and looked back at the Maihark Gate, "Very well then. Sir Keith, you have command of the watc-"
One of the beams of light from the tower suddenly stopped and then swung around back over an object. The beam traced a red sail.
"Another attack on the Gate! Keith-"
"I'll ready a sortie to reinforce the Maihark Gate!"
"Go!"
As Keith ran across the wall toward the tower closest to the barracks and stables, Ine watched a light on the Gate facing her turn on and begin to flicker on and off in a series of long and short illuminations. She began reading the Saruman code out loud as she walked toward the signal station.
Maihark Gate
"ATTENTION 2 heavy BREAK 3 light BREAK all attack NE of us BREAK READ BACK OVER," shouted the Maihark Gate Master.
As the signal lamp operator flicked the light on and off and waited for the read-back, Gunnery Master Vol was directing the chargegun crews. "Move, move, move! Get those pieces into position!"
The two-man crews rushed to separate the three Fenn-made breech-loading swivel chargegun from their tripods on the wrong side of the room. As they did so Vol turned his attention to the one chargegun with an angle on the attacking Lourian galleys. "Order the piece to load!"
The loader slid open the wooden breech cover.
"Handle the shot!"
The loader brought up a round 70mm diameter iron ball with a hollow core containing tightly packed crushed charge gems. This shot was kept from falling out of the chamber by the constant pulling force of the main charge gem in its mount behind the chargegun's breech, which attracted the charge gem filling in the shot. The loader then slid closed the breech cover.
Vol slid open the iron cover of a cross-shaped arrow slit in the tower, standard protection against wyvern fire from entering the interior of important fortification sections, and saw beams of light outside sweep over the five galleys making their way to the breakwater. With no reports coming in from the observers on the other sides of the room, he recognized that the Lourians had learned from their earlier attacks. Instead of approaching from multiple angles, the Lourians concentrated all their ships on the northeast approach. The closest heavy galley was obstructing shots on the rest of the galleys.
"Clear for action!"
The gunport controller pulled on a pulley rope to raise open the iron-reinforced wooden lid of the tower's northeast vertical-shaped gunport.
There was the twang and a whistle as one of the considerably cheaper and therefore more numerous ballistae mounted on the top of the tower let loose against the enemy. The Lourians responded by focusing their searchlights on the Qua-Toynian ballistae and launching bolts one after another.
"Gauge the piece towards the closest vessel!"
The gunner moved the bronze handle sticking out the rear of the chargegun like a paddle and swivelled the barrel downwards towards the heavy galley that was the closest ship to the tower.
When Vol believed the enemy vessel was in the range of the swivel chargegun, he gave a command borrowed from the usage of lightning cannons.
"Strike!"
The gunner inserted a stick of crystal into a hole in the rune-inscribed gem crystalline mount holding the charge gem behind the breech. Mana flowed from his fingers, through the crystal stick, and along the runes, triggering the inscribed spellware and causing the main charge gem to switch from pulling to a heavy push against the spherical shot's central charge filling. The ball moved through the barrel and passed other charge gems arranged outside the barrel to push and accelerate the shot at an angle.
There was a crack as the round shot briefly flew past the speed of sound just out of the barrel before the windy air quickly and significantly decelerated the imperfectly cast iron ball. The chargegun rocked back on its tripod as it recoiled, and the gunport controller quickly dropped the lid back to its closed position. From his position at a cross-shaped arrow slit, Vol saw a dark blur as the shot briefly intersected a beam. Even with the anti-personnel design of the Fennian swivel chargegun, considered too light for anti-ship work by the eternal rival of the Fennians, the Gaharans, Vol heard the relatively thin Lourian wood shatter as the shot slammed through the hull as galleys only protected against ballista bolts. In the darkness, he heard terrified screams from men who had just been torn up and those who watched them die and be maimed. The redirected beam of a friendly searchlight confirmed a hole along the hull at the level of the lower oarsmen benches below the deck.
"Hit!", he raised his fist to the chargegun crew. The other crews had now finished repositioning their swivel chargeguns. "Now let's quadruple our shot weight."
There was a thunk as an enemy ballista bolt embedded itself into the lid of the gunport. Even though the lid was thickly reinforced to completely withstand Qua-Toynian ballista volleys, the point of the bolt managed to stick partially out through the wood before stopping. While this had surprised everyone the first time this happened several nights ago, Vol had since learned to appreciate the higher power and launch rate of Lourian ballistae. Crunches could be heard along the stone of the tower as bolts struck them.
Vol moved safely away from the arrow slit and gave his next order, "Order the pieces to load!"
North Wall Command Tower
"I READ BACK 2 heavy BREAK 3 light BREAK all attack NE of you OVER," said the signal lamp operator.
After a moment, Ine saw the signal lamp on the tower flicker back, "CORRECT OVER."
Ine took out her wax tablet and began scribbling down some calculations with her stylus. Heavy galleys carry around 70 marines each. Light galleys carry around 30. "230!" she exclaimed. She secured the stylus and folded back up her wax tablet. She turned to a page boy. "Run down to the barracks and stables and inform Sir Keith the sortie will face an enemy force of up to around 230 marines."
"Yes, Dame." The boy ran out of the room and started down the spiralling steps.
Maihark Gate
After about five volleys of solid shots from all four swivel chargeguns, the Lourian galleys reached the breakwater, and their loaded marines were retrieving their shields from their ships' pavesade. The searchlights revealed they were lining up to hop off the front and onto the stone below.
"Strike!"
Screams of agony ran out as canister shot tore their way through the Lourians on the deck of the close heavy galley. The line began devolving into a scramble as soldiers stepped over or stepped on their fallen sworn brothers and jumped down onto the breakwater. They tried crouching on the sloping sides of the breakwater with their shields out to avoid the bolts and shots flying across and onto the centre path with mixed success.
Once his well-drilled crews loaded a wooden canister sealed at the open end with paper padding to keep a load of arquebus-sized shots inside, Vol ordered the gunport lids to be lifted again.
"Gauge the pieces." Vol waited for a moment for the gunners to aim despite the blinding light from the now motionless Lourian galleys.
"Strike!"
As the gunners began to insert their sticks, a ballista bolt flew right through one of the open gunports and struck a gunport controller in the neck, instantly decapitating the man before continuing to smash into the ceiling at the other end of the room and fling wood splinters around. His body let go of the rope holding up the lid, which fell to a partially closed angle as the first canister shots pierced the paper padding of the canister and left the barrel of the swivel gun. The little round lead balls travelled through the port and bounced off the lid, followed by the wooden canister as it too was launched out the front of the barrel due to the thin filling of crushed charge gems at the rear end of the container. Many came back through the port in a scattering of diagonal downward trajectories before hitting the legs and feet of three gunnery crewmembers. The kinetic energy of the projectiles was reduced from the bounce, yet they still punctured the skin and a couple of layers of muscle before either bouncing off or becoming embedded.
Vol found himself staring at the decapitated body slumped over on the ground spluttering blood as the heart continued pumping for a few moments. Men were screaming in pain. The partially intact head now rested on the floor against one of the walls where it had come to a stop. Then he came to his senses and yelled for the replacement crew to take over the swivel guns as the body was moved out of the way and the wounded were moved to be treated by the medicants.
Orange light emitted from outside through the still-open vision slit, drawing back Vol's attention to what was going on outside. The Lourians took advantage of the brief respite from chargegun volleys to direct their flame cannon towards the armoured door at the bottom of the tower. A stream of flame crashed into the iron door and heated it. Once the flame cannon stopped projecting fire and the fire covering the door died down, a group of Lourians charged at the door with a six-person hand-carried iron battering ram.
Vol immediately called for chargegun shots at will against the incoming Lourians. The gunners would no longer wait for commands to fire in coordinated volleys, but it was too late.
There was a tremendous low-pitched clang as the assaulting Lourians' speed and momentum allowed their ram to overcome the weakened hinges holding the door in place. Vol heard yelling as a mass of Lourians charged the tower to follow their battle brothers. Scores of Lourian soldiers were ruined by effective canister shots from his crew as they hurried to shoot as fast as possible, but there were simply too many attackers as they disappeared out of his sight inside and fought with the tower defenders downstairs.
North Wall Sally Port
Sir Keith sallied forth from the sally port with three hundred soldiers on foot. The sortie rushed along the path on the breakwater in their attempt to reinforce the Maihark Gate before it became overrun. The breakwater was too narrow for the use of cavalry, so they had to fight as infantry. The breakwater formed the north and west boundaries of Maihark's harbour, jutting out from the sally port at the far west of Maihark's walls before turning right parallel to the northern walls to end at the Maihark Gate on the northeast corner of the harbour.
As they advanced, Sir Keith spotted two light galleys exchanging ballista shots with the assortment of Lourian galleys. By now fewer lights were shining from the combatants as searchlights were destroyed by heavy shots. He grimaced at the thought of dashing through a deadly gauntlet of flying bolts to reach the harbour chain tower. As he was burdened by his plate armour, his muscles slowly started to burn, so he drifted to the right of the path as lighter-armoured troops surged forward past him on the left. Their movement was kept in the dark along with gag orders to avoid tipping off the enemy as long as possible, but he knew soon the Lourians would turn their lights upon them once they heard the thunder of incoming footsteps through the fighting and the ocean waves breaking on the piled rocks.
As the first soldiers approached the bend, he was momentarily blinded by a spotlight from the ahead. A Lourian heavy galley was positioned parallel to the northern arm of the breakwater. Its prow end was aligned with the turn and the path the Qua-Toynians were on, and its crew had spotted them.
"Ignis!" shouted someone from up ahead.
Sir Keith barely had the time to comprehend the Lourin shout before he was suddenly tackled from the left. He tumbled over the right end of the breakwater path and splashed into the cold water of the harbour.
North Wall Command Tower
Dame Ine watched the fire from the second Lourian heavy galley engulf the leading members of the Qua-Toynian sortie. The illumination of roasting bodies and dying screams travelled clearly through the night as the sortie's forward momentum slowed down.
The sortie was not going to make it.
"Sound the retreat!" she yelled the military musician.
The musician immediately blew a long bellow out of his sounding horn. Soon enough the sortie responded as additional spouts of fire blocked the way forward. Ine could only watch as the force ran back in disorder. Stragglers were skewered and maimed by Lourian ballista bolts chasing after them.
The sound of chargeguns had ceased. Soon enough, the harbour chain lowered from the tower's end, allowing Lourian galleys to swarm into the harbour. One by one, all Qua-Toynian galleys were overwhelmed by fire, bolts, and swords.
This night, Maihark Gate fell, and by the first light of morning, the Lourians began bombarding the walls of Maihark on all sides.
Esthirant Military Wharves, Esthirant, Parpaldian Empire
The first rays of the rising sun beamed across the wharves, making the water glitter with golden colour. The scene would be picturesque if there was not a huge racket as ships were loaded and unloaded.
"So, Chief, how's the stay at the pilots' house?" asked William.
The Landing Craft Utility's Craft Master, a Chief Petty Officer, replied, "The most cramped accommodations I've been in onshore, Sir. On the bright side, I learnt a local dice game and ate lots of fresh, delicious, cheap seafood. That all your luggage?"
There were four civilian rucksacks and one Marine rucksack waiting on the pier.
"Packed light. We'll be hiking amongst peasants and knights."
The Chief raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to take William's words at face value. Details about the other lands of Arda were sparse amongst most people. He turned to the rest of the LCU crew finishing their travel preparations. "Sailors, see that our passengers' gear is stowed away and secured."
A couple of sailors came over and easily hoisted the bags up.
The Chief checked his watch. "It's nearly eight-thirty; about time we cast off. Follow me, Ma'am and Sirs. We'll see you safely to the Wasp."
As they stood outside on the LCU's well deck while the ramp lifted and the craft began moving, William could hear a radio continuing to air the AFRS broadcast from beyond the open door leading to the pilothouse.
"We interrupt our normal programming with some breaking news. Enron Corporation just posted a third-quarter net loss of 618 million dollars, or 84 cents a share, due to 1.01 billion in one-time charges. Most of the charges resulted from Enron's disastrous stake in the New Power Company, a retail electricity joint venture with AOL Time Warner and IBM. The charges also include a 287 million write-down on Azurix, Enron's water management division, and 180 billion in restructuring of Enron's broadband telecommunications division. Reportedly Wall Street analysts expected the write-offs and in the future expect additional ones. We'll have to wait until about 1 hour from now, when the day's trading starts, to see Wall Street's reaction to the losses. Enron shares are currently at 33 dollars and 17 cents."
"Yikes, that's going to affect the C Fund," remarked William.
"C Fund?" asked Kevin Wright.
"It's one of the options of the TSP, the Thrift Savings Plan, like a 401(k) but for federal employees. C Fund matches the S&P 500," explained Patricia. She turned to William. "How much did you allocate to C?"
"About eighty percent. The rest went to G Fund. G's basically Treasury securities, Kevin. My TSP is now worth half of its pre-Transference value. I dare not convert my Cs to Gs lest I remove any chance of recovery. The government won't allow every big company to collapse anyway."
"Same story here," said PFC Sharps. "What about you, Vlad?"
"Mostly C as well."
"I'm shocked you didn't put more in G since you just joined," said Patricia.
"I rolled over the investments I made in the U.S. from Europe before the Transference. I don't need cash right away, so it's better to invest when the market has bottomed out anyway. There's a real opportunity out there to recover our losses. If we can confirm the presence of critical natural resources in the Kingdom of Quila and secure a trade deal, the real cost of imports for the United States could be at its lowest in history, even with ongoing inflation. Oil to many nations on this planet is worth as much as mana gems are to us: dirt cheap."
"That last sentence would have made a great quote for my reporting if only you weren't just a translator," said Kevin.
"You already quote me all the time though, even if they're all attributed to some Parpaldian."
"True," agreed Kevin. A couple of chuckles went through the group. "By the way, thanks for quickly coming down and helping us at the police station last night. Making a witness statement in English is hard enough, in Parpaldian it's doubly so."
"Don't mention it."
"Oh, you've got to talk about the details behind that," prodded William to Kevin. Everyone who was still up at the residence when the tour group returned noticed the flowery handkerchiefs hanging from three front shirt pockets.
Patricia chimed in a faux-Southern accent, "We've just must hear how the Marines saved the day once again straight from our star witness. Tell us how they saved those poor ladies."
The reporter laughed. "By golly, God bless the Marines!"
Sharps stepped forward towards Kevin, "Why I, on behalf of my fellow Marines, thank you for your kind words."
After the laughter at Sharps' impeccable timing died down, Kevin began, "So we just finished eating the most oysters I've ever had in my life-"
One boat ride later, the group climbed aboard a rotodyne for transfer to a different Expeditionary Strike Group. The Wasp ESG would remain in the waters around the Philades. The ESG led by USS Kearsarge LHD-3 would cover the Rodenius continent.
Once on board the USS Kearsarge, the Kearsarge ESG raised anchors and rode the waves past the east coast of the island Kingdom of Sios for Jin Hark, the capital of the Kingdom of Louria.
Director's Office, First Department of Foreign Affairs Building
Director Elt Wolff sat down at her desk as the workday began at precisely 8:30 a.m. As she drank her morning cup of tea, she read the first small front page headline of The Parpaldian Times.
'Americans Apprehend the Esthirant Monster'
Elt choked on her tea and coughed violently. She set her cup back down on its saucer and, after recovering, read the densely packed article jostling for space amidst the other front page news and adverts.
'At a little past 9 pm yesterday, a group of five American Marines on leave and an American reporter were on their way back from a long dinner at Harvel's at Grand Union Terminal to the Residence of the United States Envoy by slidercar when they were stopped by three terrified young women on foot. The three women, who were plying their nightly trade, were being chased by none other beast than the Monster.
The Esthirant Monster, also known as the Prickler and now identified as Rhynwick Willie, had been a scourge on the city, pricking over 50 women in the buttocks with a knife while evading authorities for two years. The Monster was not picky with his female victims, targetting the rich and poor, young and old alike.
Being dutiful soldiers, unwilling to let the pleas of such damsels in distress go unheaded, the Marines rushed out of their slidercar to confront the assailant. With only the bags they carried as shields, they bravely endured the savage blows of the Monster before swiftly disarming him with a strong kick to the face. This feat of martial prowess drove all thoughts of fight or flight from the Monster, and the Marines quickly apprehended him just in time for two policemen, alerted by one of the women, to arrive on the scene. The women credit the Marines for seizing the opportunity brought on by their coincidental proximity to the event. If the Marines had not been there, the women would surely be in the hospital lying on their stomachs with wounded bottoms.
A waiter at Harvel's Oyster Saloon and Restaurant noted the Americans' ravenous appetite for oysters that night. They had a dozen each, plus food for sharing; a meal more suited for a large lunch than dinner. Reportedly, Americans treat dinner as the day's largest meal, even outside of night galas and balls. Their quick consumption of food that left the waiter and the chefs working without pause is a testament to the amount of nourishment required to power their statuesque physique. They also tipped generously.
The five United States Marines will share the one-hundred-thaler award given by noted Union Slider magnate and philanthropist Gromel Huxet. An award ceremony will be held at the Residence of the United States Envoy today at noon.'
Elt plopped the newspaper on her desk, leaned back in her chair, and stared at the wind ring hanging from the ceiling circulating air around her office. With their actions, the Americans suddenly jumped up a few extra notches in the minds of the public. There was no doubt the Marines would soon feature in the gossip of the Grand Cross Hospital ladies' committee, at which, much to Elt's consternation, she was unwelcome due to her unmarried status at her age. All those wives do is use the wealth of their husbands to host charity bazaars and invite each other to the debutante balls of their children…
She shook her head to clear her thoughts of the road not taken. Focus back on the Marines. It was probable that their apprehending of Esthirant's current most famous criminal would draw the public's attention to the woeful inadequacy of the city's police force. While they were light on modern equipment, the police had adopted other Civilization Area techniques, such as using sketch artists to distribute wanted posters across the city and using analysts to create pin maps for redistributing police presence to criminal hotspots. Unfortunately, the labyrinth of alleyways in Esthirant meant it was relatively easy for criminals to escape patrols. The city was simply outgrowing the force, and the power of the gangs was such that the police were reluctant to arrest certain people lest they trigger a riot the next day.
There was also the matter of the tensions between the metropolitan police and the dragoons. The Esthirant Metropolitan Police answered the city council, but the Imperial Dragoons, as a paramilitary force, answered the Emperor. The dragoons were mainly responsible for the highways and rural enforcement, but here in Esthirant, they jostled with the police for funds. Occasionally saloon brawls would occur between the rival services, and both turned to corruption to supplement their meagre income. Luckily, the Imperial Secret Police's presence in the city did not produce such publicly embarrassing trouble.
For two whole years, the Monster had free reign over the city. Some ladies even started attaching pans to their dress crinolettes for protection. The countless victims and witnesses produced a detailed sketch of the man, yet the police floundered away until the Monster ran into the US Marines.
Elt sighed. There were no easy solutions to the problem. She turned her attention to Gromel Huxet. It was a propaganda boon for the slider magnate that the Marines happened to be riding his slidercar network, with the crown jewel being Grand Union Terminal. It was also a coincidence that out of all the other philanthropists in the city, he put up a significant award against the Monster. One hundred thalers was a third of the average annual wage.
Perhaps he would use this opportunity to establish a relationship with the Americans. The Americans were anxious to gain an external market for their high-quality steel, and Union Slider needed such material. Union Slider had a reputation for breaking Third Civilization Area records.
Elt finished her tea and stood up to grab her coat. The award ceremony demanded her presence. It would not be due for the public to note an absence. As she exited her office, she instructed her secretary to send a message to the Imperial Liason of Foreign Affairs and assure her that Elt was abreast of current affairs and would be meeting with Mister Huxet shortly.
Author's Notes
Researching words for Frankish (Old Franconian) was way harder than I thought. I ended up using the German Wikipedia page (which sometimes contradicts the English page like with the word for beer being 'bior' in the German version but 'bera' in the English version). I think my insistence on using as many real words as possible delayed this chapter though, so I apologize to you all for the wait. In compensation, this chapter was extra long as we finally turn to Rodenius next chapter.