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Nighttime falls upon the Atlantean Ocean. Wan moonlight peeks through the thick clouds, illuminating the restless waves and the silhouettes of twenty-four ships. Some are large. Some small. Twenty-four Elysian flags flutter wildly from their masts in the strong winds, spread out by restless waves, their emerald green silvered by the moon and blackened by the dark.
Swathes of smoke stacks blacken the already thick darkness of the night sky while the high seas slam against the hulls of the vessels, almost as if testing their resolve.
Admiral Jurard T. Rexford stands outside the bridge of the Elysian battleship, the ECS Metro Elysium. He holds onto the rails while strong winds blow, combing his head of red hair back and rustling his khaki naval uniform. It makes him shudder.
"Can't wait for the spring." Jurard mutters in Elysian at first, before he muses in Sicarian, "Sawa na ako sa lamig."
He instinctively reaches under his khaki coat, brings out a case of pre-cut cigars and puts one in his mouth. He bites down on the cigar with his sharp, saw-like teeth and fumbles for a box of matches.
No matter how hard he tries, however, Jurard cannot strike a flame. At least not long enough to light his cigar before the flame is snuffed by the wind.
"Tangina…" Jurard curses.
Determined to have a smoke, he keeps striking matches. However, he is interrupted by a noise.
The distant blast of a foghorn.
Jurard clicks his tongue, puts away his cigar and matches and marches back into the bridge of the ECS Metro Elysium.
There, Commodore Ruze and the officers of the battleship's bridge turn towards Jurard and salute him.
Jurard returns the salute, but his brows are furrowed.
"Everyone heard that foghorn." Jurard spoke. He marches towards Commodore Ruze, "It's not one of ours. We don't have convoys running that way."
"No it's not, sir. Going by the manifests, the only thing coming from that direction should be a freighter ship from the INU." Ruze explains. He spreads out a map of the local nautical zone and brings out a compass tool, "It should be going at this trajectory back to INU ports."
Jurard twists his lips.
"Think it came from a Pavie port?" Jurard asks.
"Likely. It wouldn't have survived Pavie submarine raids without an escort if it didn't." Ruze sighs and shrugs, "But still. The only way to know for sure is to have our marines board it and 'ask nicely'."
Jurard peers out the windows of the Metro Elysium's bridge. He sees the faintest smidge of a silhouette of the supposed INU freighter ship.
Then, he reaches under his khaki coat and brings out a pocket watch.
"We don't have the time, or the marines to spare." Jurard declares. He pockets his watch and folds his arms, "Colonel Ravencroft's taken all our riflemen for her contingent - and the Exclave's been asking for help for days."
"Shall we pass the freighter by, then, sir?" Ruze asks.
"Aye aye. We don't have time to play these games." Jurard declares.
"Aye aye, sir." Ruze replies, "I'll keep the fleet cruising through as planned."
"Good man." Jurard pats Ruze's shoulder.
The admiral yawns.
"Now, then, if there's nothing else, I might get some shut eye before we make it to the Emerald Bay zone." Jurard stretches his arms a little and puts off his peaked cap.
"Actually, sir." Ruze interrupts him, "We got a Priority 1 telegram while you were on smoke break."
"'Smoke' break. Sure." Jurard sneers. He feels the unsmoked cigar under his coat and sighs. Then, he brings Ruze away from the other officers and speaks casually, "Which rat is it this time?"
"The one we're allied with." Ruze whispers back, "Lt. Colonel Hakos."
"Ah, good." Jurard hums. He grits his teeth and seethes, "If it were War Minister H. M. Taro, I would have chewed off his ear until he squeaked. Aadobohin ko yung gagong dagang yun!"
Ruze's face goes pale.
"A-adobo…?" Ruze asks, bewildered.
"Never mind. Was just feeling a bit peckish for home cookin'." Jurard waves his hand. He turns to the officers on the bridge and raises his voice once more, "I need to get in touch with Lt. Colonel Hakos. Someone patch me through!"
"Aye aye!" The officers answer uniformly.
One of them readies the bridge's communication suite and vacates his seat for the admiral.
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Jurard holds the handset of his battleship's communications suite and speaks firmly.
"This is FLEETCOM speaking from Baker-Baker-One-Five. BRIGCOM, come in. I repeat! This is FLEETCOM speaking from Baker-Baker-One-Five. BRIGCOM, come in! Over."
Jurard sits still and listens in silence for a while. He rubs his chin and remembers his pair of OSS visitors from a few days ago.
"Should I try calling her 'HQ1' like they did?" He ponders.
Moments later, the handset speakers crackle with a response.
The voice of Baelz Hakos.
"Acknowledged FLEETCOM, this is BRIGCOM - speaking from Echo-How-Queen-One. We read you, but not clearly. Our communications towers have been damaged by Pavie shelling."
Her voice fizzles slightly towards the end and garbles some of her words at odd times. Jurard closes his eyes and untangles Bae's voice from the noise.
"Don't worry about it, BRIGCOM. We're twelve hours out from the Emerald Bay zone. We'll repay those Pavies back tenfold with our naval guns!"
Bae replies with much less enthusiasm.
"I sure hope so, FLEETCOM. I sure hope so."
Bae pauses and adds.
"You speak calmly for someone who just had two-thirds of his fleet taken away from him. You're working with just nine warships and thirteen transports, aren't you?"
"I only pretend to be, ma'am. For my men's sake." Jurard answers frankly. He opens his eyes and glances at Ruze making his rounds through the bridge of the battleship, "But I managed to yank my best ships out before the War Minister's order came through. The battleships Metro Elysium and Poseidon's Point, and the carriers Tokino and Hoshimachi are with me. They can turn any tide."
Jurard clicks his tongue.
"I wish I could have taken more destroyers to screen my fleet from the subs, but we'll make do with what we have."
"Still, I apologize for the rash actions of my uncle, Admiral Rexford - using the Elysian Navy as a bargaining chip for politics. Prime Minister Ceres apparently had no choice but to accept to secure his vote. She'll survive the no-confidence vote come morning, but at what cost?"
"Every piece on the board is in play for the politicos back in the capital, Lt. Colonel." Jurard sympathizes, "Don't think too much about it."
"You're right."
Jurard clears his throat and asks.
"So, what was the Priority One telegraph for, Lt. Colonel Hakos? Have those OSS gals and their pals finished decoding the rest of the MERAK?"
"They're hard at work on it as we speak, Admiral Rexford. But that's not why I called. I have a SITREP for you."
"I'm all ears." Jurard urges.
"Conditions on our front have deteriorated significantly in the past few hours. For some reason, the Pavolian forces in the area have been attacking aggressively. More aggressively than usual. They've set up their artillery as close as they can get it and they're bombarding the middle seaport as we speak."
"The middle seaport? That's the biggest one!" Jurard exclaims.
"Yeah. If you're twelve hours out, and if the Pavies keep throwing everything they've got at us like this, the middle seaport's quays might be underwater by the time you get here."
"That's not ideal." Jurard grumbles. He grits his saw-like teeth.
"It's not just that. My spotters on the Dog White zone cape's lighthouse spotted more Pavie vessels steaming in."
"The Darussalam and her heavy cruiser sisters, huh?" Jurard deduces."
"Perhaps. We weren't able to get a positive visual before night fell. Please plan accordingly and assume that the Emerald Bay is blockaded. Redirect your transport ships to Easy Red and Fox Green zone. The dock near the airport."
"That small dock at the southern tip won't be able to handle that much cargo, Miss Hakos. Let alone thirteen transports! Colonel Ravencroft's forces won't be able to disembark there! Not with their equipment."
"I know, Admiral Rexford. I know. But that's the reality we're facing. Then again, you Sicarians know The Continent better than us mainlanders do. The Navy has a different perspective on these things altogether too. If you have any alternatives, I'd like to hear them."
Jurard shifts in his seat. He glances at the map of the Atlantean Ocean behind him and the landmass of the province of Poseidon's Point. Then, he lurches forward towards the communications suite and answers.
"I… may have a few suggestions. Risky ones."
"I'll be the judge of that, Admiral. I'll smooth things out with Colonel Ravencroft too afterwards. So, let's hear them."
Jurard nods to the communications module. He covers the mouthpiece of his handset and turns to Ruze.
"Commodore." He calls.
"Yes, Admiral." Ruze stops mid-step, pivots and hurries over to Jurard's side.
"Get the galley to make me a pot of coffee. I think I'm gonna need it."
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A cannon shot away from the ECS Metro Elysium's bridge, in a prefabricated shelter affixed to the deck of a nondescript transport ship - the ECS Landing Ship, Tank 11 - a restless Colonel Nerissa Ravencroft holds court.
The Colonel, clad in full Army officer's dress uniform, sits upright with the genteel posture of a landed aristocrat. She holds her head high and keeps her eyes closed with contemplative poise as if she had commissioned a renowned painter to make her portrait.
She holds an ornate cup of tea in one hand and a saucer with cherry scones in the other. A dozen of Nerissa's ranking officers, also clad in their dress uniforms, have their own spread of posh afternoon tea past midnight.
However, the simple wooden stools and the cheap folding table that passed for their war desk contrasts Nerissa, her officers and her tea set sharply. They were like colorful chickens with ornate trinkets in a run down coop.
A coop that creaked and moaned from its hasty and shoddy construction.
"Why did I agree to this?" Nerissa mutters to herself.
She sips her tea and wolfs down her scone in a heartbeat.
"Because it's the right thing to do, madam Colonel." answers a voice, "Minister H. M. Taro sent you to replace Brigadier Olivier months ago, but you don't owe him anything."
Nerissa cranes her neck. She finds Major Shiori Novella, her adjutant, armed with a clipboard instead of a teacup or a scone. In that rickety coop slapped on top of a landing ship, she was the least well-dressed officer - but was the only one still doing her job in that ungodly hour.
"Major." Nerissa grumbles.
Major Novella smiles and salutes Nerissa playfully.
Nerissa returns the salute halfheartedly.
"You're not the only one who joined the reserves to boost their job resumes, ma'am." Shiori chimes, speaking casually.
Nerissa sighs and scowls at Shiori.
"Don't waste my time, Major. What is your business with me?" Nerissa demands.
Shiori nods and hands the clipboard to her boss.
"Right. I've finished taking inventory of our forces in the transports." Shiori reports, "Please sign off on it."
Nerissa narrows her eyes at Shiori. She puts away her teacup and saucer and takes the clipboard. Shiori, meanwhile, goes over the numbers as Nerissa reads.
"We have approximately 30,400 soldiers embarked on this wave." Shiori reveals.
"How's their training?" Nerissa asks.
"Our troops are greenhorns. Some volunteers. Some from Provisional Correction. A lot of conscripts. Many won't hold a candle to even the Navy riflemen that Admiral Rexford volunteered to us." Shiori speaks without missing a beat, "Nearly all of them were bound to return to Metro Elysium, but we got the jump on Minister H. M. Taro."
Nerissa raises her brow.
"How were you able to manage that, Shiorin?" Nerissa thinks out loud.
Shiori's smile turns into a shady smirk.
"Actually, never mind." Nerissa corrects herself and waves her hand, "I'll leave the Archivist to her archiving."
Shiori nods in agreement, urging Nerissa to continue.
Nerissa adjusts her peaked cap and continues reading. Shiori, likewise, returns to her narration.
"One hundred tanks. Enough for five companies." Shiori declares, "Four companies of M4 Sherman medium tanks, as prescribed by the Army standards - and one special light tank company."
"Good, good." Nerissa mumbles. She squints and reads the report a second time, "I don't see Stuart tanks here."
"But there's something else instead." Shiori joins her hands behind her back, "Check the T.O.E. carefully, ma'am."
Nerissa reads the report a third time, "Ah. So that's what that is."
"Yes ma'am." Shiori nods happily.
"What about the Army Air Corps?" Nerissa asks.
"Minister Taro's order snagged our heavy bombers out of our control and have them on standby in Shi'eoh Naval Station. They're not traveling with us. They wouldn't have been able to fulfill their true mission even if they did." Shiori reminds her, "We'll be relying on Admiral Rexford's naval aviators and Lt. Colonel Hakos' air forces."
Nerissa frowns. She puts away the clipboard and covers her face.
"So we'll be here twiddling our thumbs and hoping the Navy and Hakos' forces can carry their weight." Nerissa growls.
"It's called having trust in others, ma'am." Shiori chides her, "And it's worked out pretty well for the War Minister's niece, hasn't it? For her and for her two star tankers."
Nerissa furrows her brow.
"If anyone else had told that to me, Major, I would have had them court martialled."
Shiori chuckles and lays her hand on her heart, "I'm honored, ma'am. Now, please. Sign off on my report."
Nerissa pinches her nose. She takes out a pen and signs off on Shiori's report.
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Later that night, back on the bridge of the ECS Metro Elysium, Admiral Rexford's long call with Lt. Colonel Hakos finally ends. He puts down the handset of the battleship's communication suite and sinks into the seat with a groan.
He turns wearily to Commodore Ruze beside him and asks, "Were you able to get all that, Ruze?"
Commodore Ruze, who has been standing beside him, nods and reassures him.
"Aye, aye sir." Ruze answers dutifully, "I will relay our new plan to the ships of the fleet."
"Good man." Jurard praises, but his words are interrupted by a long yawn, "Hopefully Colonel Ravencroft will be… flexible enough to see things through."
Ruze snorts.
"The old guard of the Army is anything but flexible." Ruze comments.
"Don't let that hag catch you hearing that." Jurard chuckles, "Or that creepy Major of hers."
Ruze smirks.
"I'll try to be careful. For now, please go and get some rest, sir. "We still have a few hours before we reach Emerald Bay."
"I appreciate it." Jurard tips his hat. He rises up from the seat and stretches, "We'll be ready to kick what's left of the Pavie navy's ass in the morn-"
BEEP-BEEP-BEEEEP-BEEEEP!
Jurard is interrupted by the frantic beeping of the battleship's encrypted telegraph machine and the rapid printing of ticker tape. Ruze hurries over to the machine, takes the tape and reads the coded message.
"What is it?" Jurard asks. His drowsiness melts in an instant.
"One of our destroyers spotted a plane on its radar. A Pavolian Storch scout plane." Ruze reports.
"A Pavolian scout plane? Here?" Jurard furrows his brow.
"Yes, sir. We have a positive visual." Ruze confirms, "They saw it on their spotlights."
Jurard rushes over to the edge of the bridge and looks out the window. He sees the foremost ship of his fleet, a destroyer, shining its spotlights into the pitch black of the night sky.
The Admiral squints and he can barely make out the smidge of a silhouette of an unfamiliar plane.
Before Jurard could say anything, the communications suite rings again. Jurard grabs the handset and takes the call.
"This is FLEETCOM, speaking from Baker-Baker-One-Five. Identify yourself."
The line crackles for a moment. Then, a familiar voice reaches Jurard's ears.
"Acknowledged, FLEETCOM. This is HQ3, speaking from Echo-Oboe-Niner."
"Lieutenant Watson from the OSS." Jurard identifies her. He continues sternly, "This had better be a Priority One."
"It is, Admiral. We've fully cracked the MERAK and are intercepting communications as we speak. The problem is that they seem to be tracking 'a fleet of twenty four ships' in the Altantean Ocean. They even mention your flagship by name. ECS Metro Elysium."
Jurard's face grows pale. Commodore Ruze watches the Admiral falling silent and gulps.
Jurard turns to Ruze and orders him, "Order all ships to prepare for battlestations, Commodore. The enemy is here and they've been tracking us!"
"What…!?" Ruze gasps, "But we've been…"
"Just do it, Ruze!" Jurard snaps.
"A-aye, aye sir!" Ruze salutes Jurard and scrambles to relay the new commands.
The bridge of the Metro Elysium plunges into chaos as Ruze and its officers begin contacting the rest of the fleet.
Jurard turns his attention back to the communications suite handset.
"How long have we been tracked, Lieutenant Watson?" Jurard dares to ask.
"Those messages started arriving three hours ago, sir. From a third party."
"Third party…" Jurard rubs his chin. His eyes narrow fiercely, "That fucking INU freighter ship sold us out!"
"T-the INU, sir?"
Jurard grips the handset tightly.
"Never mind that, Lieutenant. Diplomacy's above our pay grades." The admiral clears his throat and changes course, "Can you identify the enemy task forces in the area, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir. We're working on that now - but we count nineteen Pavie vessels talking with each other right now. Surface ships, going by the speed of the chatter. And a lot of airplanes."
Jurard groans.
"So, they brought their carriers. Their entire surface fleet too." Jurard deduces. A sly grin forms on his lips, "Good."
"Admiral…?"
"Keep my fleet posted on what you OSS folks catch about the enemy, Lieutenant Watson." Jurard urges. He adjusts his peaked cap and looks out to the dark sea as spotlights from his warships cut through the night, "The Rexford Battlegroup's gonna go whaling."
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TEMPEST
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