The Purpose of Conflict: Chapter Twenty-One- The Battle of Osfjord
25/11/1924 / Berun, Germanic Empire / Aquilonian Embassy, Second Floor Lounge / 20:08
Rachel wanted, needed rather, a fag. A crumb of tobacco would salvage her mind from the day. Instead, she settled for finishing the whisky bottle in her armchair. Mother stood at the window in full uniform as she glared at the Imperial capital. Her hand curled around the handle of her sword. As if at any moment the city would pounce and force her to retaliate. She had barely spoken since last night or during the blur of time between Rachel's arrival at the embassy and the present. To smoke in front of her would provoke the queen's wrath and Rachel already felt dumb enough from her old escapades.
Suddenly, the door nearly blew off the hinges as her older brother and the heir apparent entered the sitting room.
"Alright, what's going on?" James announced his presence irritably wearing a tired expression. His winter coat was tossed onto the back of the other leather chair in the room. When no one immediately replied he continued with his childish complaints.
"Not a soul saw me arrive and for all purposes, I am still at the Rhine. Commander Curry is considering a spring offensive; yet here I am, doing what? Playing cloak and dagger. It better be worth it." James directed his next line for her. "You might not believe it Rachel, but I am an important man."
He smirked at her. Always the arrogant prick wherever he went. She and Mother knew he had to get his little show out of his system before the work could begin. Rachel stayed silent and finish her whisky as James went on.
"So, here we are wasting precious hours behind the lines lamenting on nothing." James sat down for a second to stand back up and pace around. None of his antics drew Mother away from the window or her sword. Regrettably, that meant he had to antagonise her. "How's the navy, Rachel?" He patted her shoulder; he did not notice her flinching was more defensive than a usual reaction. "I keep hearing rumours among the generals. Are the Imperials really borrowing that aircraft carrier of ours? Whose bloody idea was that? We are closer to the Unitary than ever before and we spend our time drinking and using our navy to entertain the damn continentals. When we ask for a peak at their mage equipment they tell us to bugger off, so why not loan them an entire aircraft carrier? Maybe they will say yes if we magnanimously roll onto our backs next time."
James stopped at the drinks cabinet, a drinking glass added to his hand upon arrival.
"I hear from the doctors Gabriel is getting his cast off soon. Maybe he'll learn not to get shot like a damn fool anymore." He began to chuckle, his glass motioning at Mother. "You had him sent to a hospital for treatment. I knew you were harsh Mother but that is truly diabolical. I'm honestly impressed." James grinned maniacally. "Now there's a model soldier. Working during medical leave and willing to enter the lion's den of pretty nurses and big needles. I bet he didn't accept candy when they gave him a band-aid. He must not be one for treats since I don't see him here drinking with either of you."
Rachel shifted in her seat. At that subject, she decided to have whatever James poured himself. Mother finally had enough of James' antics and turned from the window to announce herself.
"That is enough James." It was the most Rachel had heard from Mother in the past day. She faced them from where she stood, sharp and decisive. Her brother relented in his unique self-assured way. Mother nodded at Rachel, who knew her time had come to address the purpose of the meeting.
"Vice Admiral Canaris has the photos…m-m-my photos."
"What does that…" James' pompous attitude deteriorated within seconds. His drink was placed down on the table. His frustration bled into confusion, followed by horror. All lead to the same expression of rage when he initially learned what happened to her.
"I'll kill him." It was a whisper for himself before anger kicked in. "I'll fucking kill him!"
"No. You won't." Mother remained calm where her eldest began to lose his composure.
"I will. I'll bloody kill him. I'll wring his bloody neck with my bare hands!" James shouted the last part of his declaration. Further threats were made as the heir approached the door.
"Sit down!" Mother ordered and the Crown Prince obeyed, if reluctantly. Mother then approached her children with a plan that would resolve this plight.
"James, you are to lead the investigation with the maids – this time you will see this to the end. I suspended all the girl's nonessential missions for the moment. I will make inquiries on this matter while maintaining my schedule. If Canaris suspects we are plotting against him he might pre-emptively act against us. We must move with haste."
Mother directed her focus down at her. To her credit, she was always in her element when giving out orders she expected to be followed to the letter. "You will assist your brother where possible. Inform your colleagues that you have to temporarily withdraw from your position. For the time being, you will complete the minimum duties from here. I want to keep my eye on you while this investigation is ongoing."
"I am a prisoner then?" It was intentionally dramatic, it felt like the only avenue available for honest expression. Rachel sought to escape these sets of chains for good.
"Only in your imagination my dear." Mother replied in a dry manner. Rachel was finished with her theatrics but still had comments she felt worthy of vocalisation.
"Do you think we should bring in the rest of the family for help?" Mother stomped out the thought without hesitation. No ideas that were not hers were ever worth consideration.
"No, they currently know nothing of this matter, and they never will. Gabriel is occupied in the north and I have asked Leah to work with the Díaz regime in Mexica alongside her studies. I see no point why she should be disturbed by the revelation of her sister's past – the poor girl has enough stress to deal with."
Rachel could have lived without the reminder that Mother favoured her youngest daughter out of the four offspring. After all, she was without controversy to her name. To Mother's credit, she remained ready to act when the runner-up children needed help. James interjected the private thoughts with his face buried in his hands. It cut off Rachel's chance to act out again. "I have a man on the inside I might be able to bring on."
"Can we realistically rely on him?" Rachel was reluctant to trust anyone from the Empire anymore. Why should she see these Imperials as anything but deviants?
"I do." James put his hands down. His anger had completely transformed into a dejected presence.
"That's not what she asked James." Mother spoke, "Who is this man of yours?"
"Lieutenant Colonel von Rerugen. Career officer, hard worker, terrible taste in liquor, messy haircut." James muttered the last part into his glass, eying Rachel for a reason she already knew. She made a show of moving her bob cut while he watched.
"He loaned a hand during the Republic's gas attack. He's a principled man so he won't turn on the emperor for a handful of money. I'm not sure he fits the criteria of a useful idiot, but he could be used to our benefit."
"I'll consider it. We do not have the luxury to play around with unknown variables." Mother returned to her perch overlooking the capital in solemn silence. Rachel had to admit her mother was pre-disposed to looking down upon the Empire. If with disdain or as a hunter looking upon prey would be known only to God. The silence did not last for long due to James asking the question they must have all privately thought.
"How did he get them? We destroyed all the evidence." The use of "we" might have given James more credit than he deserved. However, Rachel was not interested in that discussion ever again.
"James, I don't think we can say that with certainty anymore."
"Your brother raises a fair point. One I have not been able to wrap my head around quite yet." Mother continued to look at Berun. A faint reflection in the glass stared back at her. "It must be recently acquired information. Ask yourselves, why now? Why not during the Vatican Conference or while we were fighting in Afrika? If Canaris is willing to stoop this low he would not hesitate to spring this on us at the most inconvenient time."
Rachel had a suspicion about the source of this newly discovered leak of classified information.
"The only people that know what happened are us three and the staff that was involved in the coverup operation." It pained Rachel to say. Even if it was a logical conclusion to their irrational circumstance. "One of the maids then?"
"No, not the girls." Mother jumped to defend her beloved spies. "They might not all be fire-breathing Jacobites but they are not fools. A smart girl raised in poverty will know there is more to gain from working with our family than against us. For their family's sake if not their own." There was a perverse truth in the implication. A person could always be kept in line if you could level a gun at their loved ones. Although the Crown preferred the financial assistance and employment opportunity strategy as opposed to covert threats.
Rachel always wondered if Mother would involve innocent civilians if the situation required such measures. A chill ran through her at the thought. Mother continued in her usual domineering fashion.
"Right now our priority is undercutting Canaris and retrieving any evidence he has against our family. That will not be possible if we start suspecting our allies of plotting against us."
"What if he has already leaked the photos to the press?" Her brother swallowed the contents of his glass and got up for another serving. Mother naturally had an answer to snub that theory.
"Then Canaris would have no leverage, James. Try and think for once." James was silent during Mother's scolding. "I don't want to regret placing you in control of this operation. My schedule is overbooked as it stands. I do not want to witness my heir fail his family and kingdom simultaneously."
James shuffled over to Rachel, dishevelled from the reprimanding their mother felt necessary at that moment. He spoke lowly, a private word between the two of them while the queen burned the Berun skyline into her retinas. "How are you feeling Rachel?"
She sighed. "To be honest I am better than I thought." It was a weird confession from her mind. "On one hand, it has finally happened. It's all back so at least I can stop worrying or pretending it will never come out. I have never been more terrified since I got myself into this mess."
James patted her on the shoulder, then bent down to awkwardly hug her – a move that he needed as much as she did. A murmur in her ear was filled with a wrath she had not heard in a long time. "If the Empire wants to pick a fight with the Stuart's then I'll burn this country to the ground."
29/11/1924 / Norden Territory, Germanic Empire / Imperial Airfield, Hanger / 07:47
Tanya sat alone, away from her battalion in a hanger, her only company found in a few Albion bi-planes and a tin mug of Visha's coffee. Her adjutant was likely off somewhere with the herd of Imperials watching the Albion planes take flight. The sight on the runway had drawn out all those stationed here irrespective of faction. The time had finally come to suspend good sense and jump into the madness of warfare.
The Albions had a head start, soon enough it would be the 203rd turn to take to the skies. They would fly by an oversized military engine-powered glider plane, make a stop in the Denmarc territory for refuelling then commute to the Osfjord fortress in the cover of darkness.
She had attended all the meetings between the northern command, and the Admiralty. She sought to minimise her responsibility in the event of failure – at best call off the attack for more time to avoid the front. All that was left to do was count down the hours before she jumped out of the plane.
The silver lining was she could move on from this wretched place. There had been no further sightings of Being X or the fox, but she was apprehensive to stay any longer.
After lengthy consideration, Tanya deduced it would be in her best interest to forget the encounter and discussion in its entirety. The beast raised points that inspired undesirable emotions. The fact remained: Being X was inherently wrong because there was no god. There was nothing to consider as there was nothing that disproved the absolute certainty in herself. Because if there was a chance she might be wrong, what would she do with herself?
Tanya finished her coffee and put the empty cup on the crate that acted as her seat. At times like this the Salaryman would indulge in a drink. The only spirits she saw value in were stored in glass bottles. Why did that boy of a lieutenant need to be greedy and hog all the booze for himself? Apparently giving thought to the Albion summoned him into the hanger, in step with Visha and the annoying Aquilonian girl that clung to Tanya's regal beneficiary. Each Albion was clad in their red coat attire underneath a wool hooded overcoat.
"Major Degurechaff." The lieutenant greeted her, for the first time since Dacia; Tanya saw both of his arms functional.
"What can I do for you, Lieutenant Stuart?"
"I wanted to bid you farewell before we took off." He smiled slightly, in his awkward half crooked half uncertain variant of the expression. At least he did not look like a predator observing its prey. It was commendable that he upheld old manners.
"How's the arm?"
Gabriel made a small show of the limb's mobility. "I have lost some feeling along a small scar in the centre of my palm. However, I am alive and once again able to participate in the conflict. I dare to say I could not be more content."
"Are you certain? There is probably a safer spot in Berun we could spend the day."
"I view this as a step closer to the Unitary's borders. After all this time I am ready to do my duty to the Commonwealth." They started the short walk to the hangers. Tanya had to keep up her appearances in front of the battalion – not indefinitely wallow in senseless theology.
"I anticipate my battalion will mirror your enthusiasm, Lieutenant. We can't sit around forever while the northern army is throwing itself against the enemy It would look bad on my record she added silently before turning to her adjutant. "Have there been any updates on the offensive?"
"The radio announced the army is digging in near the Entente capital." Visha answered.
That meant the assault had finally stalled in the snow. Tanya knew the propaganda department of free journalism had to put a positive interpretation of the events no matter how illogical it seemed. Luckily for the war effort, none of those around Tanya failed to pick up on the detail. The Aquilonian was unsurprisingly the one to air her ignorance out for everyone to hear.
"This plan better work. I don't want to be flying around getting shot at just for the Entente to hold the line." Second Lieutenant Pierre huffed. Tanya glared at the girl, its ignorance a continuous frustration to her. How difficult was it to comprehend the basics of modern warfare? Did she live in ignorance willingly or was stupidity engrained into her lacklustre character? Why the lieutenant spent any time entertaining a friendship with someone so beneath him, was beyond her comprehension. What did she know about the prince that no one else did? Regardless. a ritualised humiliation of the fool was necessary – just to remind everyone who among them was capable of intellect.
"The objective is to cripple their supply lines and starve their forces. We don't need to beat them on the field, try to remember that Second Lieutenant." The girl uttered a half-hearted "yes ma'am" to her. Further rhetoric was undercut when Gabriel pulled out an item from his coat pocket.
"To shift the discussion, these are for you Major." Gabriel handed her a pair of goggles, noticeably adjusted down to her size. "Major Hanover said you inquired about eye protection. The other week I put in an inquiry for a shipment to be sent here. I asked Mr. Weiss to sign for and distribute them."
Tanya was beside herself with joy. In one motion she had secured for herself free equipment, a reliable supplier belonging to royalty and had seen her second in command capable of mundane maintenance. She thanked her benefactor in earnest, genuinely grateful that there were those willing to provide her with what she was rightfully owed. If the Fox could see her now it would be distraught to see the world worked for her – a mere "sinful" mortal. It would be perfect for the fight in the snow she was expected to lead.
More people started to enter the secluded hangar, and one shouted to the lieutenant and his companion in Albion. Even if Tanya could not understand the language it would be evident it was time to take flight.
Second Lieutenant Pierre immediately bid farewell to the Imperials and ran to what Tanya assumed to be her plane. Meanwhile, Gabriel lingered, trying and failing to hide a nervous look from overtaking him. It would be his first time in the fight for nearly a month, and a good worker would be worried about their performance. Visha noticed it too and tried to ease tensions.
"I'm sure everything will go alright, sir." She smiled, unable to crack the lieutenant's grim face, slowly becoming paler as seconds passed by.
"I pray it will be so." Gabriel saluted Visha, an act she readily returned. "Good luck Miss Serebryakov. May God be with you."
Visha mirrored the sentiment with a smile. The boy then turned to her and repeated the formal salute. "May God be with you Tanya."
She bit her tongue. To think a nutcracker and kitsune were supposed to guard her on a mission. No, she had to play along. For the sake of maintaining appearances and to spite the true enemy she swore hatred towards. So she would smile, grin and lie through her teeth. There were more threats to her existence beyond the battle scheduled for that night.
"I appreciate the goodwill. Good luck Gabriel."
30/11/1924 / 20 KM from Stockholm, Legadonia Entente Alliance / 2 KM above Ground Level / 15:21
Brigadier Oscar Donahue shot a look of contempt at his enemy as he redirected mana from his flight gear to strengthen his shield. His efforts were rewarded as the incoming fire exploded harmlessly around his barrier until he was in the range of the Imperial mages.
They had to be rookies, no seasoned soldier worth his life would behave so carelessly. They had expended all their ammunition on multiple targets and were defenceless as Donahue flew above them. Their petrified faces were on the opposite side of his shotgun.
The two strayed too close together and fell to the first mana-infused shotgun blast. Their worn-down shields and sweaty flight suits possessed no ability to resist the blast of the 'treaty-violating weapon.' Such was the mindset of fools that sought to resist efficiency in favour of idealism.
"Four and five." Donahue muttered to himself. The shattered remains of his bested opponents fell in red chunks. Thus, marking the last of the enemy unit in the sky.
The sweat on Donahue's brow was a welcome relief. Sore thighs, heavy arms, a cold wind around his goggles, a laver of itchy sweat on his lower back. This was the best he felt all week. A well-worked soldier deployed to complete a mission.
The sensation of honest work and exercise never got old.
"Company Three and Six, I need a status report!" Donahue shouted over the wind into his communication formula.
"Sir. We've penetrated the Imperial rear guard. Their retreat is cut off."
It made him warm on the inside when each member of the Brigade operated in tandem. A well-oiled machine that never broke down failed and always provided results. It was regrettable that the ground units were forced into stationary positions. If only Mr. John could have secured the trucks for the infantry. They could have won the battle easily with all resources in operation.
"Company One and Two, follow me to ground level. Eight and Nine, watch for reprisals and cover Company's Three and Six. Everyone else kill any Imperial mages that want to avenge the weaklings you took out. Understood?"
The Brigade affirmed their assigned roles instantly. Some were with enough confidence to boast 'give 'em hell' to their comrades.
On the contrary, they would give the Hun a crash course in the effective conduct of armaments.
Donahue redirected his flight gear's momentum downward. As he squinted through the frost on the goggles the targets below became larger. A disorganised, under-equipped armoured unit pinned into a remote village.
The fools were attacking with tanks at the onset of winter in poor terrain, the most unproductive method of engagement. A complete waste of manpower and engineering. It was good fortune for Unitary and their unofficial entente allies, if the Empire had employed its resources properly, such an opportunity would not occur.
This slaughter was a benefit to the Unitary and a lesson for the Empire.
Donahue was first in the charge and scouted out targets for the initial strike. Several small explosions raked the ground and snow-ladened buildings. With the enemy trapped in the village it was cost-effective to pick each target apart, the perfect ratio of minimal risk to maximum results.
Their firepower would panic the enemy and disorganise any response. Then the next phase could commence.
"Hit the dirt. Remember to call out your targets!" Donahue's mount was the first to touch the ground. His self-assigned quadrant was the main street of the urban area. Minimal cover and surrounded by buildings on all sides. Two light tanks on the far end and a heavy model nearer to him. Faced away as it failed to retreat further into the town. No supporting infantry, a spotter or even a rear gunner. These creatures were asking to be punished for their impotence.
"It's all a bloody waste. They must be scared." Donahue aimed his shotgun and pooled mana for another formula. The trigger bent to his will, the hammer clicked, and the recoil pushed into his achy shoulder. He repeated the process two more times to ensure success with his neutered range. Two more mages landed in his vicinity and delivered their payloads onto the target. The rear of the tank exploded, and the vehicle rose into the air and crashed with an agonizing shriek. The tracks disconnected from the body that rapidly began to emit fire.
"The pair of you! Get on top of that." Donahue pointed down the street where the uncoordinated tanks fired in vain into the air. If any man was incompetent enough to get hit by these Imperials, they deserved to die. The Brigade had no use for worthless untrainable workers. The pair affirmed the order and flew towards their targets.
This wounded giant would be his to disembowel. All it would take were the innocuous shells Donahue loaded into his weapon.
The snow was modestly easy to traverse through on foot. A rough complexion for packing together, not slippery that would take the weapon's sights off the target. As expected, the main turret hatch flung open. A head poked out for a peak to disappear back inside. The torso then came out aiming a pistol. Donahue fired before the fool had a shot lined up. The corpse flopped onto the hull with mushy brain matter slashed onto the metal. A new appendage immediately took the place of the fallen tanker. A white handkerchief clutched in its fingers.
"Aufgeben! Aufgeben! Wir geben auf!"
This meant there would be no further resistance to this task.
Donahue scaled the wreck, more mindful of the fire and jagged metal than the cowering Imperials. Once on top, he aimed the gun into the hatch. The arm retreated into a humanoid figure with other such specimens inside holding their hands up. It forced his finger to squeeze the trigger.
The best army in mainland Europa would not miss incompetent cowards among its ranks. There was a temptation to allow their escape for the chance their unworthy traits would fester amid the enemy – it recreated the problem. Humanity did not need weak links. Enough pain had been caused by the weak remnants of their race and it could not be allowed to continue.
The shotgun emptied into the shrilled mass of piercing screams. As much a favour to Berun as it was a benefit to Londinium.
The lower hatch swung open. Donahue increased his shields in preparation for more vain retaliation. The gun would need more ammunition if it was to finish the cleaning. A figure burst from the tank and scurried away into the snow. It ran faster than could be reasonably expected, Donahue had to commend that. A fast pair of legs was not a redeeming quality for sloppy labour.
He pulled out his sidearm and put two bullets into the figure's back. It fell instantly onto the white ground. Donahue emptied the remaining bullets for good measure.
At the abrupt end of the fight, the sound of the battlefield faded away to a near-muted silence. Donahue unconsciously hummed the beginning hymn to the Brigade's beloved song.
We are the men of the Beneficiarius. Hiya ho ho.
Glory-comes for us men who take-it. Hiya ho ho!
The small break ended; he had no interest in such luxuries. There was more work to be done.
30/11/1924 / Osfjord Fortress, Legadonia Entente Alliance / Imperial Powered Variant Gilder, 2.5 KM above sea line / 23:57
The glider's bay door opened, and the cold winds assaulted Tanya's position. The faint lights of the Ostfjord fortress glimmered below. She pushed her new goggles over her eyes to detour the wind.
Tanya turned around the face the rows of her war hawks. It would be wise to remind them early about the importance of the mission. Their success might be imperative, but she was not keen on earning a reputation of high casualties within victory.
"Remember everyone. We will have thirty minutes once we drop by parachute to destroy the coastal batteries. The Empire relies on us for a decisive victory and I do not want to assign any more sick leave after tonight. Understood?"
"Yes ma'am!" The battalion answered her in unison. The majority seemed to glow at the potential of causing violence.
"Chi rho!" Deputy Commander Weiss shouted the informal war cry she never consented to. Unfortunately, it had caught on.
"Chi rho!"
At that moment, Tanya could imagine the sly grin of that fox.
30/11/1924 / Osfjord Fortress, Legadonia Entente Alliance / 5 KM West from the Coast / 23:55
First Lieutenant Gabriel Stuart rested his head against the stock of the mounted machine gun. The overwhelming vibrations and pitched volume from the biplane kept him on edge more than the mission they flew towards. He resented his reduction to an injured sidekick in the unit, this was intended to be the redemption of that image. He silently longed for that time when the gnawing fear of flight was absent. Perhaps shame and cowardice were not too bad? Living with shame as a disgrace to his family and country at least meant he was alive.
Gabriel reached for his wooden cross tucked underneath his tunic collar and additional winter layers. Major Hanover entrusted the mission to him. There was no place for that mindset, by any means he succeed – the fear of death was beneath soldiers, and he had to pretend to be a better man. A prayer to Mother Mary was offered in his hunched position. Gabriel finished, sat back up, affixed his goggles over his eyes and worked the bolt on his rifle. He double-checked his bulky equipment one last time. All as it had been before take-off. "Lord protect us." The warmth of mana fed through his chest into the computation orb for the communication formula.
"All units, call in." The countdown to the violence had unofficially started.
"Wendy-One. Full nest: ready." "Wendy-Three. Full nest: ready." Gabriel winced at the missing plane and was accompanied memory of the two dead men he failed. He composed himself when it was his turn to announce himself.
"Wendy-Seven. Full nest: ready." Gabriel affixed the oxygen mask to his face, while unnecessary at the low altitude it had kept the user's nose and chin nominally warm. If he had no choice other than to press forward it was necessary to be prepared.
"Wendy-Twelve. Full nest: ready." The voice of Peggie ended the roll call. Eleven Wendigo planes lined along the North Sea. Her end was Gabriel's cue to hide his nerves once more. "Descend your altitude above the water level for a torpedo strike. God be with you all. Invicta!"
The formula ceased with the simultaneous war cry. William leaned back from the pilot seat to shout from under his layers of scarves and aviation winter layers. "It sounds like they're ready eh." Gabriel simultaneously envied and despised Mr. Brown's constant upbeat perspective. "Keep the plane steady Mr. Brown. If we do this satisfactorily, we will be on the Titus flight deck soon."
"Where's your sense of adventure sir?"
"We can search for it back on the aircraft carrier." The pilot laughed for his amusement; his attention turned back to the front of the plane. Gabriel worked in a Hail Mary before the first call came out from the radio. "I have a visual on the port?"
Mr. Brown confirmed. "I see 'em too. They're in for it now."
Gabriel peered over the side of the aircraft for a better view. A scarce outline of lights from the base and ship silhouettes were visible in the distance. No preliminary response from the enemy came. The ships out of the dock drew larger, the prey that would be the first to fall tonight.
"Wendy-Three. Launching torpedo." Transmission to the other planes. A destroyer boat near the squadron erupted into a spire of fire and water.
They had officially invaded the Entente in another flirt with death. The Major would be descending on the main fort soon if she had not already jumped from the plane. There was no option to turn back now.
The enemy had still not fired on the squadron; likely confused in search of targets to fire upon. The planes split up as prepared and sectioned off to different ships leaving or entering the island base. Gabriel and William's victim appeared to have the weight and build of a heavy cruiser.
If the Empire's intelligence was accurate, then they had the luxury of destroying the regional pride of the fleet. The kill would need to be confirmed at a later date. It was hard to classify ships from exaggerated distances and heights. Height? Gabriel took a deep breath and looked over the side again. The black waters made his stomach ripple – the distance from that icy surface was worse that its sight. He scrambled back to shout at his pilot.
"We are too high!" Gabriel's voice strained against the mask.
"What?" William looked over his shoulder. There always had to be a problem. Mr. Brown had lapsed in his training and Gabriel lacked an advantageous eye to notice the mistake earlier. They did not have time for criticism. There was a solution, one that made Gabriel's stomach contents burn the back of his throat. On weak legs, he heaved himself out of the cubby hole into the fridged wind outside the biplane. Muscle memory placed his boots on the exterior handles. This was already too much, and he had to sink further. When he squatted the underbelly of their craft was visible long enough to make a decision. The scramble back up could not have been quicker.
"Two meters down!" Gabriel struck Mr. Brown on the shoulder to ensure the order was received.
The plane's path was corrected justly, and Gabriel bent back down to confirm. The liquid mush of his small breakfast crept back into his mouth and had to be swallowed back down. He held the uncomfortable angle to judge the appropriate release time. The supposed best of the Commonwealth had no room for error.
Gabriel lingered until he could eyeball an answer. A month of overseeing the training exercise granted him an eye for detail. "Now!" The torpedo was released. It skimmed along underneath the water to the enemy boat. Gabriel crawled back into the rickety plane immediately. The motion of the plane shifted upward out of trajectory with the vessel. They passed the target as it split into two pieces. Water spiralled upward from the torpedo's impact, then explosions rapidly engulfed the cruiser. Gabriel felt the fringe heat of the blasts pressed against the exposed skin on his face. It was a sign of progress and revenge for the Invicta Alliance if just gore to the human eye in the moonlit battle. Mr. Brown yelled something that resembled celebration. Gabriel had to commend the work of his friend despite the mistakes that forced the mid-air gymnastic act. "Good work Mr. Brown."
Now onto the airfield and dockyards. They had to knock out the planes that doubtlessly raced along the tarmac for the sky. The order for a radio jamming formula went out as more mages closed in. Searchlights of the enemy base bled into the night made for easily identifiable targets
The first anti-aircraft shells began to explode in the sky without a rhythm or coordination. The enemy was firing blindly in the hope it could garners results. It was unusual to see after years of campaigning across Afrika and a simultaneous relief. If the Legadonia were reliant on faith to win the battle they were on the wrong side.
The Lord held the Commonwealth in His favour for decades. In death, their devotion to Him would be proven; in life, they could rejoice in service to a worthy victory. The 27th merely had to make the Lord's will so.
Gabriel lined up his rifle with the first target and braced for the recoil. The plane rocked slightly with the shot. A shadowy mound on the runway exploded in a small fireball. The spell combined with the fuel and dormant ammunition to create an expanded ball light that revealed small shadows of men that ran to and fro. It was a worthy start to the attack on their main objective.
Four more shots were fired, three hits on valid targets of two aircraft and a searchlight that created a column of smoke. Mr. Brown gave the biplane the wide birth it demanded another pass over the airfield. The other biplanes had used their torpedoes and were divided amongst the main base and previously untouched ships docked in port. No injuries or losses were yet reported over the computation orb or radio. "Perhaps we will survive" Gabriel whispered to himself, he made a sign of the cross made to honour their Father. "Thanks be to God." A stripper clip was inserted into the rifle and the bullets were pressed in.
"Requesting permission to make a strafing run Lieutenant Stuart." Mr. Brown had the radio piece raised to make the call, just itching for approval. It would appear he had to satisfy himself with some kills under his belt.
"Granted." Gabriel resisted the impulse to sink into his slightly safer cubby hole. There was a cheer, a brief radio exchange then the plane seemed to skip forward with the excitement of its user. They sped towards a line of stationary anti-air emplacements. Gabriel focused his active shields forward to absorb defensive shots from the increasingly desperate defenders. Only one flak explosion shook the biplane, barely a distraction for Mr. Brown in his calm bursts of machinegun fire against each target. The escape to the open sky was unhampered by hostile flak or William's pride.
A communication formula came from Gabriel's orb, which instinctively opened as Gabriel lined up another shot. "A bit close there Gabe, I mean Wendy-Seven." Peggie found time in her attacks to divulge sarcasm. Gabriel squeezed the trigger and took out another searchlight with an artillery formula. "I believe we managed adequately Peggie." She gawked, shamelessly amused by her friend and commanding officer. She was lucky Gabriel considered himself a patient officer.
A third pass was made over the island base that resembled an ancient ruin intermixed with roaring fires from ammunition and fuel tanks. The few marks of civilization that stood were crippled ships that floated idly to their burning facilities. Gabriel had no delusion mages could sink such beasts with only ranged spells, their mission was to cripple the Entente fleet to protect the Imperial fleet and landing parties. At a glance, they appeared to have secured all parameters of their mission. Gabriel activated the routine formula to call upon fellow magic users. "All units, provide a status report." The familiar voices trickled in.
"Wendy-One. Full nest: no damage." "Wendy-Three. Full nest: the portside wing is clipped but we're alright." "Wendy-Four. Full nest: the buggers chipped the paint." The men and women proved themselves to be the Commonwealth's best once again. No deaths and no injuries, Gabriel refused to be satisfied until he heard Peggie's voice come through his computation orb. "Wendy-Twelve. Full nest: I might have messed up on the shields. We took a few hits to the chassis and rudder but we'll live. Fuel doesn't appear to be leaking."
A weight disappeared from Gabriel's body. They could – no should – they should go back to the aircraft carrier. The 27th fought in worse conditions in Afrika and even at half strength there should not be deterred by superficial damage. But was this all they could do? The enemy could have additional planes that might pounce upon the landing force and Major Hanover. They still had fuel and ammunition to expend before retreat became mandatory. Could they stand before Her Majesty with self-respect and claim that accomplishing the bare minimum in this pivotal hour was enough for her, God and the Commonwealth?
"Mr. Brown, contact the HMS Titus to report our position and the destruction of the base. Regroup on my position. We will move inland to support the 203rd battalion at the main attack at the Osfjord fortress." Gabriel repeated the order to the mages. No one raised criticism or vocal approval, letting a tense wind fill in for discussion. "Are you sure we need to do this Mr. Stuart?" William leaned back before he relayed the message.
Gabriel placed another stripper clip into the rifle. The time for questioning the decision had passed, if not the regret of what they had to do. "I am certain. Please take us inland."
30/11/1924 / Osfjord Fortress, Legadonia Entente Alliance / Officers Barracks, Private Bedroom / 23:51
Private Marc Farman checked the hallway for any other occupants. Right now, he was alone. Colonel Wright told him to attend to cleaning and organise the uniforms. The uniform was ironed, every button had been polished and no minor detail had been ignored. He never anticipated military life to be this uneventful.
The war stories and the Ministry of Defence made the job sound interesting. This job was the highest calling for a true Unitary citizen. A chance to become the forbearer for the fasces cause and represent the country on the world stage. They alone would stand against the gates of hell and remain unbroken. Colourful marches, hikes, adventure; the unremarkable pay was the single factor he received as it was promised. No one would sign up at the enlisted level if they knew men like Colonel Wright were fond of beatings or if everyone else mocked them. He might not have joined if he knew the only person in a uniform to be kind to him would be Colonel Sue from the Entente Alliance. But there was an alternative purpose for Farman joining the moment he turned sixteen. The government restricted nearly all internal immigration among the populace. An inconvenience that had to be endured for the Unitary to succeed and maintain security from external threats or dastardly royalists. As the army had an innate necessity to come and go, so maybe one day he would be posted into the Republic. Before dad died in the revolution of 1911, he said his mother lived with her family in Toulon. The old letters Farman kept from her described the coastal city in the south as a paradise away from home. It was a relief to know that one day the tedium of this job would be over. One day he could stand on the sandy beaches of his new home.
Marc sighed. A part of him wished he had not finished so soon. It might spare him a beating from the Colonel but it let boredom quickly settle in.
If he had nothing to do, then it would be no harm to do something else for a while. Which meant he could now do what he had been aching to for what felt like a lifetime. He sat on the ground and emptied his secret pouch onto the floorboards. The last week's catch of five unique rocks.
One chunk of limestone, two samples of granite, grey and pink, a red and green 'Christmas rock' eclogite, and some white plagioclase.
Farman rarely kept these many specimens at a time. They might be interesting, but they belonged to the world. Each stone conceivable was here before anyone alive today and each stone would remain long after each human alive was gone. These Nordic stones told the thousand-year story of its resting place. They should continue to tell that tale. The ones Marc kept had to be special; a stone invaluable that it had to be held onto for as long as possible. The catch from this week might have some contenders added to the permanent collection.
None could ever hold a candle to Marc's favourite prize. A small thin rectangular piece of granite made of a grey and copper complexion. It originated from his orphanage in Cornwall. A small piece of earth tucked into his tunic had outlasted all of the island's history. There it would remain until he passed, left to carry on his story and tell it to the next passer-by that happened upon the beautiful stone. It used to frighten him, now it stood as a reminder that all was temporary – the boredom and anguish would pass. Eventually, he would be in the Republic with his mum and the last vestiges of his family.
"What are you doing lazing around on your ass?"
Farman jumped in his skin at the surprising voice of Colonel Wright. The angry man emerged from the door, "Here you are. Sat on the floor like a fucking child" Wright kicked away the stones Farman had carefully laid out. Treating the little treasures worse than the rubbish that littered the ground. "When you finish your job, you come and tell me. You don't get paid to laze around playing with pebbles!"
Wright kicked the remaining scattered stones to the corners of the room. Farman instinctively reached out after the treasures; his disobedience invited a swift kick into his ribcage. Colonel Wright walked to inspect his ironed uniform as his adjutant writhed on the floor. The officer talked to himself about the mundanity of operating the base, ignorant or apathetic to his aid's pain and slight sobs.
Farman reached for his prized stone hidden in his breast pocket. It did not ease the pain he felt but it reminded him that it would not last. One day he would be home. He would be with his family again. He would lie down on the beaches of Toulon to feel the sand against his face and be happy.
"What was that?" Colonel Wright interrupted his mindless ramblings. Farman slowly got back onto his feet unsure what "that" was intended to signify. The room seemed normal and dark but not worth a cause for suspicion. There was a weird noise from the outside but why would the Colonel ask about something so far away? Then the building violently shook with explosions filling the air. Out the window, Farman saw the darkness light up with orange and yellow bursts of light. He was yanked away from the sight by the Colonel dragging him out of the barracks. "Move it you damned fool, the fortress is under attack!"
Farman scurried after Wright as if a dog leash was affixed to his throat. The night was filled with explosions and flying mages that disappeared as quickly as they appeared. If it was not all frightening it might incite fascination. The Colonel's shouts managed to rise above the sporadic gunfire and explosions.
"If those planes aren't already in the air there will be hell to pay when I get my hands on those pricks at the airfield." The anger of Wright expressed onto his adjutant in lew of alternatives.
Farman had to shout in the battle they ran through. "Why don't we go into the tunnels?" Those things ran through the entire base. It would also be the safest spot in the midst of a raid.
"That's not how you fight battles boy. I am needed out here, so you're staying." The Colonel looked back, flashing his sidearm. "If you think of running, I will drop you dead!"
They reached the nearest set of defences. An anti-air gun shooting fire into the sky and one of the many idle coastal batteries. Entente crewmembers hurried to operate their artillery and supply it with ammunition from a canopy nearby. Soldiers not assigned to the guns fired their rifles at the vague outlines of flying Imperials.
"Private!" Colonel Wright smacked Farman on the back of the head to gain his attention. "Get on the radio and make sure the air forces are aware of what the hell is going on."
The headset barely protected Farman's ears against the erratic bombardment of the mages. The island airfield answered no messages so he had to ignore that predicament for the moment. He could barely hear a word from the inland airfield. The microphone connected the locations in a joint confusion as to what was going on. Through repetitive delivery, the order and confirmation codes were passed on to send the pilots skyward. Farman barely heard the radio operator – something incomprehensible about another attack on boats somewhere else – so he just hoped the planes would come to help them.
Farman relayed the Colonel's order in time for his shoulder to be grabbed and yanked away from the radio set. The surprise was barely registered as more mangled words were shouted at him by a vaguely familiar Legadonian mage. "Ammunition! Ta några!" The foreign words meant nothing to Farman. The mage's expression hardened, which provoked his hand to slap Farman across the face. "Ammunition!" Now shouted in the Albion Farman recognised. A box of the stuff used by anti-air guns was hastily shoved into his hands. "Figure it out you stupid Anglo!"
Farman apologised in haste, several steps behind the mage lugging more boxes to the artillery emplacement. Brass shells quickly to exchanged hands with the operators who promptly sent each into the sky.
Colonel Wright came back to his adjutant in his familiar state of violent anger. "Private! Are those planes up?!"
Farman saluted for his officer, a handprint across the face was the reward for his obedience. "Answer me!"
"Yes, yes!"
"You can finally do something right." Wright turned to exchange words with the mage. "Major Gunner."
Farman nursed the latest wound he apparently deserved. The anarchy slowly faded in from the background into a singular overpowering voice. He could stand on his feet, but he remained unable to comprehend everything going on. He should run, that would make him a coward but what could he do then? He was no impregnable stone that could waver violence with only blemishes.
The Colonel and Major Gunner abruptly stopped their shouting match to end Farman's dilemma. "Private! Get your head out of your-"
Then the gun shattered. Everyone standing was thrown down with more force than Farman had ever experienced from a CO.
Farman was uncertain when he woke up, or if he passed out. The thumping sensation inside his skull made it a challenge to determine. He stayed on the cold ground staring at the waring sky until the pain became tolerable. The firefights and burning fortress provided a continuous source of light for the sky and ground alike. A shadow of a mage would dart past every few seconds. In the blur, uniforms gave way to vague images of persons. A muscular beast of a man leading a unit of regular-sized flying people. A small blonde that looked to be no bigger than a child. Doused in a green flight suit and goggles with an oversized rifle in her tiny hands. All the knocks to the head must have been getting to him. If Farman did not know better, he might believe there was an actual child fighting for the Empire. Mage or not - no one in their right mind would send children into battle. Not even Wright or Gunner seemed to be that cruel. The thought seemed to summon one of the men into existence. Major Gunner flew in to shoot at the "little girl." The battle was short-lived - the blonde deflected the spells to jam a bayonet into Gunner's neck.
Farman flinched away - modestly pleased that it was not a real child involved in this terrible place.
Back on the ground, the world was no better. The antiaircraft gun was aflame, and the crew mostly slumped on the ground or fired their guns at the figure. A different Imperial frantically retaliated with disciplined magic.
Farman tried to stand, successfully stumbled and fell back down to view the rest of the fight. The Imperial took down her next soldier. The rifle ceased to function, empty or jammed, provoking panic onto their - no, her – inciting panic onto her face. Farman often heard from the government that women were subpar for combat. To see a pretty brunette immediately turn her rifle into a club and charge against the last gaggle of enemies snubbed every doubt in him.
Not far from him, Colonel Wright was not in the least intimidated by the girl's abilities. Already on his feet and unloading multiple handgun magazines against the Imperial's shields.
The rifle shattered on contact with the final soldier, bent into an unusable conglomeration of wood and metal shards. The Imperial panicked, nearly comical to see a pretty brunette girl react like she forgot her schoolwork after caving in a man's skull. The Colonel wasted no time against exploiting a perceived weakness in the enemy – closing in with his sidearm. The girl sprung back into action, creating a second shield to deflect the Colonel's bullets and pulled a shovel from her kit. She closed the distance to swing at Wright, knocking the gun away to be lost in the night. The Colonel retaliated with a punch that sent the girl stumbling backwards. He went in for another strike, parried by the Imperial who swung the shovel and separated Wright's head from its body.
The head sore through the air to land inches from Farman's boot. The sole attention of the Imperial brought to rest on him. He shuffled away in fear of what seemed to be his inevitable end. The girl took a step closer to him, her bloody shovel gripped horizontally by her waist. It was no good. Farman shut his eyes and curled up in the hope it would not hurt. He did not want to die. He still had to go home to his family. He could not win, how could he save himself against something that beheaded the man that could always beat him?
"Los, raus hier. Ich werde dir nicht weh tun." The voice fit the girl's face – if not her warrior appearance. Farman had no notion of what was said but it sounded removed from a battle cry. He still had no courage to look up from his shivering fetal position. What was he supposed to say to his executioner? He heard her step closer, hunched down to speak again. "Hallo ... ich will dir nicht weh tun. Geh einfach." Farman glanced up, the blue eyes of the pretty brunette looked at him through a pair of goggles. "Raus hier. Gehen."
The Imperial looked around, she wanted to be certain her next killing would have no witnesses in the midst of a noisy battle. Satisfied, she grabbed him. Farman yelled in anticipation of his killer's first hit. He managed to keep her away for a moment but failed as she grew more desperate in the struggle; further hampered by her flying gear and shovel.
"Hör auf! Ich werde Dir nicht weh tun! Steh einfach auf. Es tut mir leid. Es tut mir leid." The girl got Farman to stand up and shouted in his face. Finally pushing him away. "Raus hier! Los! Du wirst dich umbringen, wenn du im Freien bleibst! Laufen! Laufen Sie ins Landesinnere und halten Sie den Kopf gesenkt. Los los los!"
Farman stumbled at first, then ran to the cries of the merciful Imperial. Her generosity could not be in vain, he had to get out of this place. A lone private running away from the action was easily missed or ignored by any Imperial or Legadonian. Each was occupied with killing to give passive attention to the value of life. Farman knew if he just needed to reach the tunnels to survive. The paths carved into the immortal mountainsides would ferry him into the rear, and from there a departing train would get him away. They could be scratched, chipped and carved through but the stones would remain. Today, they would save him.
The port level was the worst to experience. Fire touched every surface and ate what little remained after seemingly endless explosions. Bodies of the defenders were charred mounds that reeked of sulfur, barely recognisable as belonging to a human. Train soldiers and unarmed crew were one of the same. Farman gagged at the foul combination of ash, salty air, iron, and burnt meat. He barely had the self-control to collapse in front of the water's edge to relieve his stomach contents.
The world seemed to gradually slow down. The wind was finally heard over the explosions and space gunfire of the few living defenders. It carried snowflakes, followed by the moans and cries of those unfortunate enough to not yet die. A quiet undertone for the night.
The Ministry did promise this in one way. They stood against hell, then marched straight into it.
Farman spat out the remaining vomit into the water. A snowflake stole his attention and inexplicably flowed against gravity to draw his gaze into the sky. In the fires and moonlight, he saw a pair of mages floating together. The distance must have been over one hundred meters over the bay. Somehow Farman could see it all – past the snow and smoke it was presented to him in every detail. The blonde creature was back. Its smile stretched beyond its mouth to rows of sharp teeth. It was more of an imitation of a shark than a child. Its hands' gripped a bayonet that pierced into the chest of an Entente mage. The pained eyes of Colonel Sue stared with hatred into those of his attacker. The Colonel that officially commanded the fort that now lay in ruins. The Colonel was deprived of his gun and thrown to his death. A man that went into battles in the front. The only man that had not spit, mocked, beaten, or, despised him. The only decent man Farman had met was disposed of like trash by a monster.
Farman did not realise he got into an unblemished rowboat, or how he had the strength to man the ores under the cover of the night. The Imperials appeared to disengage from the area, unable to interrupt Farman to retrieve a near-dead Colonel Sue or hurry back to shore. By powers beyond Farman's comprehension, they were both still alive. His bones ached with each move, but he managed to drag the unconscious Sue into the nearest tunnel. The stone hid them away from the danger beyond the tunnels. The rock would outlast the dying men it protected; scratched, chipped but never broken. The mountains and Farman's prized granite lacked the weakness of flesh or the reason to make it bleed.
Farman cursed to himself but refused to stop there. If he rested for a moment his legs might refuse to go another step. He had to try, to reach a train, to survive so Sue could live, so he could one day go home.
01/12/1924 / Osfjord Fortress, Legadonia Entente Alliance / Osfjord Waters, Battleship Basel Decks / 12:58
"Our destination would be the bottom of the North Sea if it was not for your unit Major."
Tanya basked in the praise of Captain Glein. He might be overstating the involvement of the 203rd but who was she to refuse praise? A word from a naval officer in front of her men might reach the admiralty, and from there the General Staff and be incentivised to allocate another reward. If the Lieutenant and the Albion queen were involved this might just be the day, she earned the corner office in Berun.
Captain Glein addressed the mixed crowd lazing on the deck. Most had already ditched their rifles for their canteens. "You all deserve praise. The Empire and its citizens owe each of you a debt." The mages cheered at the words of the captain and temporary host. They were officially on standby for the marine units. Therein, Tanya had to wait until sunrise to head south to relative safety. It was a relief to sail through contested waters on the largest possible ship surrounded by screening vessels.
Tanya called Visha from the crowd, not willing to let her sit idle when there was work to be done – for her major of course.
"Captain Glein. Could I and my adjutant be permitted to utilise the radio room?"
"Of course, after tonight I couldn't possibly say no. I will show you there personally." Glein smiled and led the two girls into the battleship's interior. A quick guide through the iron-scented halls to a small enclave of electronics. Tanya offered her thanks and the captain bid them farewell. Abandoning two girls to the company of a sleep-deprived seaman slumped over the equipment.
"It's smaller than I thought it would be." Visha placed her shovel and kit against a wall. Nursing her cut cheek where an enemy got too close by her admition. Tanya refrained from providing a comment since she did not care. "I toured the SMS Prinz Josef before the war and it had some rooms bigger than my house."
The radioman loudly muttered from the far side of the room. "One needs to be mindful of the needs of a ship. The Basel is a battleship while the Josef is a battle cruiser. They need to be designed to waste the least amount of taxes, not amuse the teeming masses." He did not speak to either woman with no intention of going unheard. Tanya took a firm stance against this laissez-faire attitude.
"Remember Lance Corporal. You are speaking to officers."
He looked over his shoulder at them, each eye was glazed over with indifference. There was something he wanted to say and wisely turned away without uttering it. "Yes ma'am. Of course, ma'am. My apologies ma'am."
Tanya would be firmer if the audience contained more than Visha. Why should she get involved in a lengthy process with another government branch that would not impact her? It was not a productive use of her time to go spitting into monsoons.
"Lieutenant. Go see if you can find a cup of coffee on this ship." Tanya sat on an empty chair.
"Mess hall is the level above. Take the stairs up, turn right and you'll find it." Visha thanked the sailor and escaped the room. "Now, ma'am. What would an officer like from an underling like me?" Tanya was starting to become annoyed with the man's tone. It must have been due to the child's body that she was not treated with the necessary respect allotted to a superior.
"Curse you Being X." She quietly muttered to herself. Tanya would get a kick out of running the man ragged for a short while as an outlet for the frustration.
The first task was simple: Contact the HMS Titus for confirmation on their pickup. Followed by several status reports from marines in case they needed assistance. A request for a message from Lieutenant Stuart and every appropriate contact she could think up at the moment. Just to pester the lance corporal that inflicted the same upon her.
To his credit, he worked hard, and complaints were kept to himself while on the job. Even as she lingered next to his workspace, he kept his composure and comments private. Tanya took note of a small area on the console table for personal effects. A group photo of suited men with the title "Hamburg Commune Society" written in pen. A small stack of reading material in books and pamphlets.
The Communist Manifesto
Vladimir Ulyanov Biography: The Revolution Personified
The Necessity of Drastic Change by Max Letzenbourg
Max Letzenbourg: 1906, Ulyanov, and the First Year of the Muscovite Revolution
Rahab Letzenbourg: A Critical Response to my father
Rahab Letzenbourg: A Critique of Social Democracy and the Implementation of a Reformed Market
Tanya frowned. While communism was not expressly illegal in the Empire there was a publicly frowned upon ideology and rightfully so. A meritocratic free market society should snub its nose at a people that intended to collectivize all under a totalitarian state. At least she knew to stay clear of Hamburg now that she knew it to be a 'red' city.
Visha returned with a tin cup for Tanya as the standard reports came in - except one.
"The Titus is on standby."
"What does that mean?" Visha teetered on overt stupidity with her confusion.
"It means the Albions aren't ready to talk to us."
"I hope His Highness is alright." Visha whispered her worries. Tanya had never considered anything could have struck down the boy. She needed him alive for at least another year at a minimum.
Then the telegraph machine came to life. The communist scrambled to write down the transmission. The sloppy handwriting indicated the haste of the information arriving.
"Ma'am, urgent telegram." The paper was shoved into her hands. The first line made the coffee inside Tanya's stomach turn cold.
URGENT ORDERS
Major Degurechaff is to be deployed on rescue operations immediately.
On orders of General staff at the request of the Imperial Navy at the request of the Commonwealth Admiralty in service to the Germanic Empire and Albion Commonwealth.
Five Commonwealth personnel have been stranded behind enemy lines. One VIP present, the second in command to Commonwealth Unit 27th Mechanized Mage Wing. Reports are a minimum of one aeroplane crashed and a failed rescue attempt; no communication was maintained.
Extract the VIP and other personnel to the coast for extraction by boat.
Enemy presence is unknown. The last location of VIP and extraction location are as follows.
Tanya passed the paper over to Visha, who promptly began to panic. It was clear she would volunteer for the rescue mission that now had to be carried out.
"Curse you Being X."
A/N:
Personal notes: My mother is doing better overall. I do not feel inclined to provide details but ideally, it should not be a significant matter to wrestle with. I do apologise for having a semi-vague rant about it and then disappearing for a while – definitely not a good look on my part.
I will confess I am not entirely satisfied with this chapter. First, the Gabriel scene originally contained an additional fight along with a lead into the next chapter. However, for the life of me, I could not get it to fit properly. That section had been a big reason for the wait, so I am cutting losses to post it. I apologise if your heart was set on reading a dog fight, you will get one sooner than later and hopefully, it will be presentable. More important to me is losing some dialogue between Gabriel and William and the set-up I will need to make up for later on.
Second, it is likely evident I am not fond of writing fight scenes due to their infrequent appearances in the overall project. My beta readers have told me the chapter is an entertaining and comprehensible read but I would be lying if I said I was pleased with it on a personal level. This chapter has been outlined since day one of the story with the intent of it being filled with a bunch of combat. An ever-present black spot on the horizon. Now that it has come and gone I believe it is better than what I imagined it would be.
I always wanted to avoid repeating Tanya's perspective of the battle as all other sources tell it. It would be easy to get in some easy Tanya action but I cannot justify it to myself. If I am repeating the scene without changing it then why should it be read here and not in the original work (ignoring the differences between the mediums)? I think the option of following Farman worked well. I do worry if I can successfully convey to every reader the POV is the one making mistakes/bad judgment and not the author. I did manage to get shovel Visha in from the manga. That was a must-have going into this chapter.
Thank you for reading. God be with you all.