January 15th, 2015
The sun rose without incident, which to people that had been awake for what happened was practically a miracle. No civilian knew what was going on. The Military Government had put out a notice on radio and TV at 6 A.M informing the public about a state of emergency. Schools were closed. Ration lines would be open that day, but for a limited time. A curfew would be in effect with exceptions for medical emergencies. Even though only a third of the country had working radios or TVs, public broadcasting areas and word of mouth spread the news fast enough. Everyone was talking about it, filling in the unaware and speculating what it was.
The Estovakian Military likewise had no idea what had happened, but they were actively investigating. No more rest and refitting-the entire weight of all three branches was ordered to help. Any man or woman not with their unit in the next 48 hours would be considered deserters.
There was no two ways about it though: Emmeria was gone. Yuktobania, they weren't 100% sure because there was another landmass in the way. But the Air Force probed more than 500km west and hadn't run into a single Emmeria fighter, airliner, or anything of the sort. The border was just cliffs now. Mainland Estovakia had essentially become an island.
Colonel-General Dvornik had to see it for himself. It didn't matter how many of his subordinates reaffirmed it through communications. The Supreme Commander needed to see with his own eyes to believe that it was true. It was reckless to leave Headquarters in the middle of a crisis, but he had to see it.
Now Gustav Dvornik stood on the edge of a high cliff, staring out into the sea in the midday. Far below, waves lapped against the bedrock of what had once been the border. The roads ended abruptly. Short unsupported lengths of railroad track dangled above the drop. Parts of the border wall were still periodically crumbling from the ground under them giving way, and engineers were quickly erecting new fortifications to keep people away from it.
It was gone. The people who had wronged them were gone. The farmland, industrial areas, and resources that would finally fix Estovakia to its former glory were gone. Retribution was impossible. All the planning, all the preparations, everything he had set up to restore his country was moot now.
And Gustav Dvornik had no idea what to do now. He felt a hollowness in his chest he hadn't felt for 7 years and a profound sadness for his country's suffering that dreams of conquest couldn't alleviate anymore. And dread that more was to follow.
His obsession with Emmeria hadn't consumed him enough to not act. The Air Force and Navy had been conducting basic reconnaissance, with more substantial and organized efforts being prepared right now. There was other land far to the west and southwest they didn't recognize. Ships they didn't recognize. The initial report from the South Sea Fleet even suggested human races they didn't recognize. Those and the still cut off satellite communication only pointed to one reality, one was almost impossible to accept.
Emmeria and Yuktobania didn't disappear. Estovakia disappeared. How was unknown. Where they were hadn't been ascertained. And even if all its territory had arrived, several hundred thousand overseas Estovakians hadn't. The number of immediate crises this caused…too many to count.
It felt like the leadup to Ulysses all over again. An indescribable force beyond man or woman bearing down on them. People were terrified, but it was unyielding, and they somehow lived on with it looming over them. They'd thought Ulysses would be a quick death until it shattered into thousands of fragments in orbit and rained down on the world. Estovakia was dying for 7 long years until the Civil War killed it, and it had taken a Civil War and 7 years more to resurrect it.
The isolation would cause another slow death of the country, but this time Dvornik didn't know if he could resurrect it. His steps away from the cliff's edge were heavier than the ones that had carried him there. High ranking officers from the Western Precinct and locally deployed units who'd escorted him here were watching him. Further back were border guards doing the same. All at him, waiting, expecting.
He didn't know a way right now. But there could be one out there. The only way to find out was to overcome the overbearing crisis and keep moving forward. "The Air Force and Navy are handling reconnaissance efforts. If we're an island now and this is unfamiliar territory, we need to watch our shores carefully." No one was landing any boats on the western border, but they couldn't ignore the sky either. "Spread out the deployments. I want eyes along as much of the coast as possible. If you see anything at all near our shores, I want to know."
He was not a motivational speaker. He'd rarely spoken to the media during the Civil War, and he'd only spoken to them once since then after Issac died. He inspired with action, not words. When he did use words, they were simplistic but powerful. Right now, that seemed appropriate.
"Whatever this is, we're going to get through it. I've never seen anything stronger than the Estovakian will." Confidence and determination rippled across the faces of his audience. Simple but powerful.
He'd come west to see things for himself. How it was time to head east. The Generals would be meeting to handle this.
Trotus Air Base was named after the small inland city of 30,000 far south on the Brăila Peninsula it was situated in. It was one of the largest air bases in the country, and one of the only four to be shared by the Estovakian Air Force and Estovakian Navy. In the Cold War era, Estovakia had always been wary of Yuktobanian submarines and had invested in a substantial anti-ship and anti-submarine force. Trotus Air Base had been a base for the Air Force's anti-ship squadrons and the Estovakian Navy's Nimrod patrol planes. But two-thirds of the naval air fleet had been lost during the Civil War, and most of the Air Force had been consolidated in the Central and Western Precinct. This South Precinct Air Base only had two Nimrods and a single squadron of Tornado GR.4s stationed there now, all of which were tarped up in their hangers being guarded. Activity had been minimal for the last year.
But the base bustled with a little more activity this morning. Ground crews were preparing to un-tarp the GR.4s and begin maintenance checks. No more mothballing; Military Headquarters wanted every squadron activated again. More than that though, the base was getting reinforced. Only one of the two control towers was being used and was guiding them in.
"Control Tower, Bufniţă 4 and 5 on final approach, confirm landing clearance."
"Landing clearance confirmed on runway 2. Bufniţă 4 and 5, you are cleared to land on runway 2."
"Understood." Descending out the sky came the hulking mass of a C-17A. Landing gear unfurled, the heavy transport plane landed and rolled down the runway previously used by the maritime patrol craft. As the first one reached the end of the runway and started to taxi off towards a nearby hanger, the second C-17A touched down too and repeated the motion to park next to the first. The two transports safely landed, the control tower focused on getting the last of the reinforcements landing.
"Meteor 1, runway is clear, you may begin your approach when ready."
"Copy that." Came the reply from 19km above their heads. "I'm bringing it around." The fast blip on their radar that had been flying a wide circle around their base for half an hour headed north, nearly passed the edge of their radar range, and started approaching the air base at a slightly slower speed. "Meteor 1 coming in to land."
"Meteor 1, we see you. Adjust your heading 2 degrees east." The control tower guided the last plane in with precise instructions as others watched. On the ground, other base staff who'd seen the C-17As come in were watching with anticipation.
The final craft to come in was all black with an elongated body and a wide back half: An SR-71 Blackbird, a high-altitude reconnaissance aircraft. After Ulysses had destroyed countless satellites in orbit and left the atmosphere too cluttered to launch more for several years, aircraft like these had had a huge resurgence in usefulness. Even with advances in fighter aircraft and ground based anti-air systems, the unarmed SR-71 was fast enough and flew high enough to escape both. There was only one publicized instance over the last 30 years of one being shot down during the Usean Continental War, with a spotless record otherwise.
This single Blackbird had a distinguished record. After a rat race between the Eastern Faction, Independent Tariff Federation, and Island Coalition early in the Civil War, the Eastern Faction had secured it and used it heavily to recon the LUF in western Estovakia. Many pilots and SAM batteries had tried to take it down. None had succeeded. Now it was being called into action again.
There was a new landmass to the southwest, apparently called Rodenius. After its encounter with an antique ship, the South Sea Fleet had sailed closer to shore under the cover of darkness and visually confirmed it for themselves. There was land there, and it looked nothing like the northern coastline of Yuktobania. Colonel-General Dvornik had decided they needed to find out what was on it, so he'd made the decision to deploy the Blackbird. He didn't know the danger level despite certain indications, so The Invincible Eye, as pilots and ground crew affectionately nicknamed it, would be sent with the expectation nothing could threaten it. The accompanying C-17As were carrying the ground crew and special equipment it needed to make such a mission. A KC-10 tanker aircraft, the final part of the equation, was arriving later today.
The plane landed, deploying a large parachute after touching down to help bring it to a stop before being guided to a large empty hanger and powered down. Everyone got to work preparing it for the mission ahead. None of them truly grasped the scale of what was happening, although they knew were certain something was wrong. The men and women buried their unease with hard work. Hard work won battles. Hard work had ended the Civil War. Hard work made Estovakia better. During the Civil War, that mantra had helped keep so many soldiers sane through the devastation.
Repeating it now, they found the same relief through the uncertainty.
It wasn't just the Air Force pulling out of its mothballed state. The Estovakian Navy was too. Șirnea was a major port city on the northwestern portion of the Brăila Peninsula. Following Estovakia's southern coastline from the Emmeria-Estovakia border, this was the first port one encountered, and for that reason it had used to be a major trading hub between the two nations. Before the Civil War, it had just been a civilian port. During the Civil War, the LUF had used it as the headquarters for its naval forces. Now that the war was over, the new Estovakian Navy continued using it as the home port for some of its expanded forces.
"This is a fucking mess." Growled Căpitan-comandor Arcos, executive officer of the battlecruiser Cygnus. The Cygnus was a Kirov-class battlecruiser, a formidable conventional/nuclear-powered warship from Yuktobania. Yuktobania had manufactured dozens of these to counter Osea's extensive aircraft carrier fleets during the Cold War. An aircraft carrier's main advantage was range. To bridge that gap, Yuktobania had applied its expertise in missile technology to create massive anti-ship cruise missiles with a 400km range. Battlecruisers were the delivery method, each of them carrying 20. Complemented with a VLS system holding over a hundred long range and short-range anti-air missiles and eight gatling guns for close defense, a battlecruiser was a valid answer to an enemy aircraft carrier battle group.
But that was only if it was crewed. A non-negligible number of the Cygnus' crew weren't aboard right now, which meant it couldn't set out. The XO was busy helping the lower officers take care of that, but it wasn't looking good. Being mothballed, only a skeleton crew had been onboard. The rest were either on land or on leave. When the order to return to the sea had been given, they'd gotten most of the crew back on board quickly, but a lot of sailors on leave needed hours or even a full day to make it back. Some crew couldn't be located at all. The reasons weren't clear, but they'd already caught two trying to sneak home to see if their family was alright after what happened earlier that morning. That was probably the case for the rest of the missing.
Walking onto the bridge, he saw his superior, Comandor Stancu talking tensely with Contraamiral de flotilă Sala, the flotilla commander and a hardass of a former Eastern Faction captain. Commander Acros walked stiffly up to the two and saluted. Rear Admiral (Lower Half) Sala, being the higher ranking of his two superiors, was the one to return it.
"Commander Stancu tells me the ship is physically ready to sail out. Where's the rest of the crew?" He demanded bluntly.
"654 crew on onboard and accounted for. 49 who were on leave are making their way back now. 7 remain unaccounted for."
"We can't waste any more time. How many can we leave behind before we set out?" Sala looked at them both.
"Lieutenant-commander Ionita is missing her daughter's birthday to come back. Unless you intend for us to sail without anyone commanding the anti-air section, we should at least wait for her train." Admiral Sala did not look happy, but he was at least reasonable and didn't argue. Battlecruisers were very particular ships, hence why they were commanded by the same rank that commanded the navy's aircraft carriers. Before he'd gotten that star on his shoulder, he'd only been the captain of an Aegis ship. Not a nothing position, but he'd still only been the same rank as Arcos and in an entirely different field.
"We don't necessarily need full combat capabilities, but I'll trust your word on that. Commandor, Căpitan-comandor." He bid them both farewell. Theirs wasn't the only ship in the flotilla that wasn't ready.
"We knew what was coming." Commander Stancu told his XO once their superior was gone. Both men were former LUF officers, kindred spirits. Thousands of former LUF Army members were still in prison or in chain gangs. A lucky few former LUF pilots were "in reserve" living on reduced paychecks. It was only in the LUF Navy that most of its members kept on actively serving in the reformed Estovakian Navy, although with an infusion of Eastern Faction officers; half the lieutenants on the battlecruiser had come from the Eastern Faction.
Just like the Eastern Faction Navy had spent most of the Civil War battling the Island Coalition and didn't inherit the Army and Air Force's disdain for their LUF counterparts, the LUF Navy had spent most of the Civil War fighting the Island Coalition and Independent Tariff Federation without much care for what the Eastern Faction was doing. That lack of animosity had made integration a lot easier. They were all Estovakian again, but liking each other? That may have been too much to ask.
"At least he knows there's things he doesn't know." Acros could live without being liked by his new superior. But at the very least, the men from formerly different factions held a sort of mutual respect for each other as sailors. Respect and a shared desire for Estovakia to recover was what held the Military together these days.
The two men stared out the bridge at the nearly empty port. One side of it had been fenced off and turned into a base for the 3rd Flotilla-their group. The Estovakian Navy had six new flotillas, and 5 of them had the exact same composition: Two battlecruisers, one of which was the flagship, and six destroyers. Ten and thirty in total, and all but four of them that were transfers from the East and South Sea Fleets were ships that had come to Estovakia during the Civil War.
The battlecruisers all came from Yuktobania. The superpower had mothballed many when the Cold War ended. After declaring war on Osea in 2010, it had sought to recommission them, but Osea had launched a counter-invasion before that could happen. After the war, Yuktobania sold them off both to disarm and secure funds to recover from the utter ass-kicking it had taken in the Circum-Pacific War. Yuktobania had resisted selling stuff to Estovakia before that, but immediately after the war? Things had moved smoothly for a few short months when Yuktobania's government was fragile and recovering from the military coup that had initiated the war in the first place. There'd probably been some corruption involved, but the Estovakians hadn't cared as long as they got the ships they all desperately needed.
Most of the destroyers had come from Usea. Sold by countries that were downsizing their armed forces to put more focus on reconstruction, focused enough to not be picky about the customer. Some had been bought brand new directly from Usean shipyards that were desperate enough to make a profit they would write it down as a sale to "The Legitimate Government of Estovakia currently fighting anti-government rebels". The rest they weren't sure about, but all that mattered was they got them.
"Off to find a lost continent." The captain murmured, then scoffed. "What the hell is going on in the world?" Emmeria had supposedly disappeared. The Air Force had flown over where it should've been, all the way to Mante, the largest Emmerian city near the border and once the proposed capital of the Republic on Anea. Neither the city or the continent was there, but they had spotted two large islands in the area. The 3rd Flotilla was going to sail out there and find out if somehow-and it sounded ridiculous-those were leftover Emmerian territory. The sheer scale of the event was the reason for the urgency.
"Some of the crew are worried about a purge, sir." Acros said seriously. "That's probably why a lot of them haven't returned yet." The ship's captain shook his head.
"I was speaking with Admiral Sala for a while before you showed up. That man is stressed. Something happened. I don't know if a continent disappeared," His tone made it clear he was still skeptical, "But we aren't about to catch one in the back. I am certain of that." He looked out at the flotilla again. The flotilla commander was heading across the bay to one of the destroyers. "But it might be worse."
What was going on? Ludmila Tolstaya and the rest of the passengers, virtually all of them Estovakian, wondered. Their ocean liner hadn't set out as intended. The only reason given was an order from the authorities on land barring ships from leaving. They'd noticed more soldiers arriving at the port too.
The mindset of the Estovakians on board varied. Some wished they could stay but knew they couldn't. Others had only come to visit or even pick up family and were glad to be leaving. Others were somewhere in the middle. All of them knew there was something wrong. Ludmila, part of the first group, wondered if Toscha was in any sort of danger.
The crew of the ocean liner was diverse, but its officers were overwhelming Yuktobanian citizens. They especially didn't like things. "What are those bastards up to?" The First Officer muttered.
"Probably shooting each other again." The captain was equally dismissive. None of them were fans of coming out here. Yuktobanians and Oseans were very skeptical of military governments after both had been led to war by them. Helping Estovakians leave the country was, in their mind, an act of compassion as much as it was a paid job.
A really high paying job too, given that Estovakian waters weren't particularly safe for civilian ships. Factions hadn't been shy about sinking ships they figured for carrying supplies to their enemies. They hadn't been above seizing and pressing ships into their own navies either, blaming other factions if diplomatic pressure was applied. Few earnestly believed they were above doing it again.
The crew started talking amongst themselves about slipping out of port under the Estovkian authorities' noses. Two other foreign ships that happened to be in different ports that same morning started doing the same.
The capital of the Qua-Toyne Principality was the city of Qua-Toyne itself, countries named after their capitals being commonplace even in the Civilized Areas. Despite being the capital, it was a very modestly sized city. Qua-Toyne only had about four major cities that at most held 10% of the country's population. The vast majority of its population actually lived in villages and farming communes across its territory.
Despite the name, Qua-Toyne wasn't actually ruled by a prince-the name was simply inherited from the country's several millennia of existence. The country was headed by a prime minister, with several other ministers and officials helping run it. A lot of territory was administered by the communes, but the cities and some areas were overseen by nobles that willingly answered to the national government.
The government buildings were all only one or two stories, built with stone walls and thatched roofs. The country got by, but it wasn't wealthy enough to afford tiled roofing from the Civilization Areas. A function over form mindset prevailed. The windows were left open to let in sunlight and help air circulation. An uneasy conversation could be heard coming from one of them.
"Are you sure they weren't making this up?" The Qua-Toyne Military Minister asked, looking perplexed.
"The Trade Minister insists they weren't." The Information Minister replied. One of the nation's trade ships had flagged down another ship that had a manacomm that morning and sent a message back saying that an "enormous metal warship" from a nation called "Estovakia" had stopped them late last night and let them go after asking only a few questions. Rightly concerned, the Trade Minister had brought it to the Information Minister, and the Information Minister had brought it to the Military Minister. "I've never heard of countries called 'Estovakia', 'Emmeria', or 'Yuktobania'." There were a number of islands around Rodenius that held one or more minor countries, but Qua-Toyne was familiar with all of them, not to mention a small nation probably couldn't create a ship like the one seen.
"Nor I." The Military Minister admitted. "His brow creased. "You had to bring this to me now of all times? We were getting ready to send the 1st Fleet to Maihark." Qua-Toyne only had two naval fleets: the 1st Fleet on the northeast and east side of the country, and the 2nd Fleet in the north based around their major trade city of Maihark. As yet another precaution against the Louria Kingdom, the 1st Fleet was meant to join the 2nd Fleet to increase their defenses. It would only be 100 ships plus whatever merchant ships joined them, but it was all they had. He already felt pretty bad about it since it would be giving pirates free reign in the east, but he couldn't do it if a foreign navy was harassing their ships. "The Prime Minister will not be happy." The man grimaced. His elven counterpart made the same expression.
Prime Minister Kanata was the Qua-Toyne leader. The elf might end up being its last leader considering the way things were looking. The year 1639 had just started, and the Prime Minister was convinced the country wouldn't survive to see 1640-Louria would invade before the year was over. For months he'd been trying to meet with other nations, find some alliance to buoy them, or some military advantage to give them the slightest edge. Nothing has borne fruit, and the stress was showing. The Prime Minister was only 83, but he looked closer to 140 due to worry.
"It goes without saying," The Information Minister said cautiously, "that the food shipments to Quila being interrupted won't be good for us overall." Quila was the only ally Qua-Toyne really had for the inevitable war. They couldn't let it starve.
"I'll tell the 1st Fleet to keep an eye out and hold off on transferring them for a little while. I'm still skeptical of this report." The Military Minister reluctantly gave in. The Information Minister glanced around and lowered his voice for what he said next.
"This isn't that well known on this side of the world, but things west of the Second Civilization Area haven't been good lately."
"The Second Civilization Area?" The Military Minister was confused. That was nearly 20,000km west of Rodenius, a place that no citizen was likely to ever visit, the areas west of it even more so. He guessed it wasn't surprising the Information Minister would know more about it, but he didn't see the point.
"A lot of nations west of it have been conquered in the past six months by the same nation, an emergent one quickly growing in power. It's said to have metal warships too. What happened this morning sounds similar enough that it worries me." The elf admitted.
Now the Military Minister really did wish he hadn't had to hear this news. An overland invasion from their western neighbor was already a threat Qua-Toyne couldn't answer. An invasion from the eastern seas was unbearable.
"We should tell the Prime Minister."
Later that evening, the Qua-Toyne 1st Fleet was gathered together east of Rodenius, fifty war galleys in total. While rowers propelled the ship below deck, armored sailors on the deck were armed with bows, spears, and short swords for ranged combat and boarding actions. Shields were affixed to the side of each galley to deflect incoming arrows, and the sailors equipped for melee had their own made of wood or bronze to block overhead falling arrows.
The mood on every ship was tense. Earlier that day, they'd been told to keep a lookout for metal ships belonging to a foreign nation called "Estovakia" coming close to their shores from the northeast. At first, they hadn't taken the report too seriously. Then, only an hour ago, two trade ships coming north had told them they'd seen a fleet of twenty metal warships further south. The 1st Fleet had no choice but to go investigate.
And they had just spotted them on the horizon.
"They're all huge!" Admiral Rokas sweated. They varied in size, although two were absolutely enormous. Even the smallest ships, which by his eye made up half the fleet, were far larger than any of his. A ship's combat power was relative to its size outside the Civilization Areas. One of the enormous ships could probably take on the entire 1st Fleet. Even the smaller ships could probably take two, three, or even four of his ships to overwhelm. "Tell Headquarters we found them." The elf ordered.
"Admiral, what are we going to do?" The captain of the galley he was on asked.
"Hopefully they're willing to talk like last night. Let's find out what they're doing here."
With communication from the mainland, the South Sea Fleet was aware that the working consensus now was that Estovakia had somehow disappeared from the Anean Continent. The sailors had reached a more drastic conclusion once the sun came up: They weren't even on Earth anymore.
After approaching Rodenius last night, the fleet had taken up a station 50km offshore where they shouldn't have been visible from land. But once the sun came up, they realized they could still barely see the continent on the horizon despite radar proving it was 50km away. The horizon was how far a person could see into the distance before the curvature of the earth blocked their view. Standing on flat ground, that was about 5km with an increase the higher one existed. In the superstructure of a warship like an aircraft carrier, it was still only between 20-25km. But they were undoubtedly seeing further than that. The only scientific explanation was that the dimensions of the planet they were on was different, possibly even twice the size of earth.
Around midday, they learned they weren't the only ones; a lot of Air Force pilots were noting the same thing. The skies were different.
The South Sea Fleet had spent most of the day at anchor, moving during midday when more orders came in. The mood on each ship was tense. With land disappearing or moving, it wasn't surprising for the men and women away from their land to be worried about it. Every enlisted and officer felt the same. But they had an important job here: they were at the forefront of efforts to figure out what had happened, something that Estovakia would have to do to continue surviving. Each ship's medical officer was practically handing out sedatives to off duty crew too worried to sleep just to make sure they were rested when they would be needed.
They'd avoided any more contact, although some ships had passed within visual range, none of them had approached. Until now. The formation had been noticed hours ago on radar, and once it entered their view it was undeniable these ships were approaching them.
"Those are war galleys." The Intelligence Chief spoke. "And that must be the flag of Qua-Toyne. I'll get it photographed and transmitted back to South Sea HQ." The flag was a calming green with a figure in the middle, a sharp contrast to the red and black Estovakian flag.
"They're only doing what we'd do if we saw a fleet by our shores." Admiral Ioveanu stated. "Every ship battle ready?" He asked despite that acknowledgement.
"Yes, commander. Destroyers on the outer ring are already targeting them." Piracy was a moderate problem in Estovakian waters, one the South Sea Fleet had been dealing with since peacetime. Based on what a 100mm cannon round did to a fishing or smuggling boat, hitting those galleys would definitely result in a spray of bodies.
"Only fire if fired upon. Make sure every ship knows that." Ioveanu continued. Their orders were only to stay on station 100km off the coast of Rodenius to provide support to the SR-71 flyover if needed. The supersonic spy plane had flown over their heads less than 30 minutes ago. These ships showing up may be a coincidence, or they might not. "Call the captain and tell them to get a helicopter ready for me."
"Sir?" His head of operations said quizzingly.
"A helicopter, Comandor Caragiale." the admiral said again. "I'm the highest-ranking officer present. I handle negotiations." The South Sea Fleet commander had spoken. "Comandor Lupul, care to join me?" He asked his Intelligence Chief.
"Of course, Admiral." The man nodded.
"Captain Dalca says they're prepping an H-9 now." A sailor reported. The ancient looking warships were only moving at 7 knots-just over 10km/h. The destroyers were ringed around the fleet between 25 and 30km from the flagship; they'd make contact with the outer ring in about two hours, plenty of time to make the flight.
"Call the mainland." Admiral Ioveanu ordered. "Find out if Minister Koznick has any instructions for us in regard to foreign nations." The old sailor had a wry smile on his face, something his staff shared.
The H-9 was a high versatile single rotor utility helicopter, first designed in Osea and mass produced the world over. It was favored by armies for air assault, med-evac, and search and rescue, and by navies for anti-submarine warfare, anti-surface warfare, and amphibious operations. Unfortunately, helicopters were one of the things Estovakia was chronically short of, and the navy only had 19: 5 each for the East and South Sea Fleets, 4 for the carrier flotilla, and a single H-9 was allotted to each of the surface flotillas. How it would get more was a much more unwelcome question now. But they had them and they would use them. A single H-9 lifted Admiral Ioveanu and part of his staff to a destroyer on the outskirts of the fleet for the anticipated meeting.
Admiral Rokas realized quickly that none of the metal warships were moving, which he interpreted as having no hostile intent. He did see something fly from one of the ships onto another. He assumed it was a wyvern- a flying creature uncivilized and civilized nations alike tamed and rode for reconnaissance and attacking from the sky with the creature's own inherent magic fireball attack. Civilized nations used them in naval warfare by building specialized ships capable of letting them take off. That was already concerning sign, especially since the 1st Fleet couldn't get wyvern support from land even if it wanted-all of Qua-Toyne's wyverns were either near the Louria border or Maihark.
The foreign warships were also more spaced out than he'd originally thought. In naval warfare, ramming and boarding were the prevailing tactics. Ships often stayed close together to keep enemy ships from being able to aim at the vulnerable sides for ramming. He'd heard (but never seen) ships in the Civilization Areas used metal on them, and the Civilized Areas fought in entirely different ways. Would these ships too? If this turned into a battle, he'd have to come up with a new strategy quickly.
As the 1st Fleet approached, one of the smaller ships started moving towards them at high speed. Admiral Rokas tensed. The ship's captain ordered the archers on board to standby. Then, a voice blared out.
"My name is Admiral Ioveanu of the Estovakian Navy. I am the commander of this fleet. Will the commander of the Qua-Toyne fleet please come forward so we can speak?" After coming about 5km closer to the 1st Fleet, the small metal warship turned to the side and stopped. The sailors were surprised by the presence of what they too assumed to be a manacomm speaker.
"So, they still only want to talk." Admiral Rokas was still troubled, but that was a relief. "Tell the rest of the fleet to hold. We'll go speak with them." As unnerving as their presence was, they were clearly making an effort not to be threatening. He was obligated to match that tact.
The 1st Fleet flagship sailed up to the metal vessel. Close up, its real size wasn't far off from how big it seemed at a distance. The front and very back of its deck were flat, but the rest was taken up by things Admiral Rokas couldn't even put words to, except for a cabin with windows near the front. He couldn't even spot a single sail or opening for oars. There were men on board, pointing him to the back of the ship. The galley rowed that way. As it got closer, it became harder and harder to see what was on the ship since its deck was so high above the water. But he did catch a glimpse of the thing he'd thought he'd seen earlier fly from one of the enormous ships to this one. He was no longer sure it was a wyvern, but he didn't know anything else to describe it.
Once at the rear of the ship, several more men in an alcove below the deck start motioning to a metal ladder extending down towards the water. The galley pulled in close as it could. "A guard for the admiral!" The captain called, summoning forward two sailors armed with short swords and two with spears. Two of the guards went up first. Since ladders were essential boarding tools, sailors were adept at scaling them with their weapons and armor, although this was certainly a longer climb than other boarding actions. Admiral Rokas certainly felt it as he climbed aboard.
At the top awaited six humans dressed in dark grey clothes, wearing helmets and what looked like leather chest armor. Two were holding something black and metallic. They kept a respectable distance away from the ladder and the two guards that had come up first, and it was only after the last two came up that one stepped out to address them. "Can you understand me?" He asked first.
"Yes?" Admiral Rokas was confused at such a basic question. "Are you the captain?" He was unsure, considering none of the men had the fancy uniform associated with an officer.
"I'm Lieutenant Mitu. Just a crewmember. The ship's captain and the fleet's admiral are waiting on the deck above us. "If you'll follow me," He offered. Surrounded by his guards, Admiral Rokas did. Two of the sailors stayed to watch the ladder. The walkway they were on wasn't very wide or very tall, and the spearmen had difficulties moving with their weapons in the small space. They passed two closed doors that Rokas assumed led into the ship. As big as it was on the outside, he imagined the inside must be vast.
"How does this ship move?" He asked. "I did not see any sails or oars."
"Diesel engine." Lieutenant Mitu answered. Admiral Rokas had no idea what either of those words meant. Some kind of magic technology? A beast powered system? They were led up a flight of metal stairs to what he assumed was the main deck of the ship, although he could see other walkways and doors higher up.
How many decks does this ship have? He wondered. Other sailors were watching, some of them carrying the same metal object but not wearing any armor or helmets, just hats. Their escorts led them to the flat part of the back of the ship. Over a dozen men and women were standing by the flying 'thing' he'd seen. It wasn't a living creature, that much was certain this close up. He couldn't immediately tell which was supposed to be the fleet commander; they were all dressed the same. The only difference in their uniforms were small symbols on the collars and shoulders he didn't know the meaning of. He assumed one of the older ones.
His guess was right. One of the older looking men stepped forward from the rest. Admiral Rokas motioned for his guards to stop and stepped in front of them. "Admiral…Ioveanu, I presume?" He tried to get the pronunciation right.
"You are correct." The old man nodded and stood out his hand. Admiral Rokas shook it. "And you must be the leader of that Qua-Toyne fleet?" The other admiral glanced out of the 49 war galleys in the distance.
"Yes. I am Admiral Rokas, commander of the 1st Fleet." The handshake was firm, and Rokas could sense the hardiness in this human. He was an experienced sailor too.
"You must be here wondering what we're doing here." Admiral Ioveanu was blunt.
"Yes." Cordial pleasantries aside, that was the most pressing issue. "We would like to know why your fleet is anchored off our coast."
"We're anchored 100km off your coast, well out of your territorial waters." Admiral Ioveanu stated, making Rokas bristle. "I assume you heard of where we're from?"
"The northeast?" He'd heard it, but it was hard to believe.
"300km northeast of here. Although depending how far north your coastline goes, I think one of our peninsulas is only about 200km from your shores."
"Do you take us for fools?" Admiral Rokas was beginning to believe the niceties were just to belittle them.
"Not at all." Admiral Ioveanu was calm. "If that was true, we would've noticed you and you would've noticed us a lot sooner. But the fact we're here proves two things: We're here despite never existing near you, and you're here despite never existing near us. The countries around us disappeared. Have any around you disappeared?"
"No." Admiral Rokas was bewildered by this line of questioning even though the foreigner was speaking at least half the truth. If Louria disappeared, that'd be a blessing. He briefly entertained the notion.
"Then I guess the most likely thing going on is our country somehow moved to be closer to yours. I assure you it's a lot more traumatic for us than it is for you." As Ioveanu said this, the men and women behind him shifted uncomfortably. It didn't seem like a rehearsed lie.
Their whole country moved? It actually made more sense than claiming they'd always been there. There was tangible truth and legends about it happening before: Millenia ago, a powerful race of magic humanoids called the Light-Winged People used their power to come to this world. With their powerful magic, they subjugated all of it under their nation's name: The Ravernal Empire. Their power grew enough to challenge the Gods themselves. In retaliation, the Gods sent divine retribution from the sky to destroy their home continent. The Light-Winged People used their magic to escape before it arrived, but they left a warning behind where their nation once stood proclaiming that they would return in the future to reclaim this world.
Wait, are these…?! For a brief moment, Admiral Rokas had a terrifying thought, but he calmed himself down and hoped it hadn't shown on his face. The Light-Winged People were distinct. These were all just humans. Besides, the Ravernal Empire wouldn't simply talk to them.
There were legends that the Mu Continent far out west, which was also called the Second Civilization Area, had been transported to this world some 10,000 years ago. It was a legend to everyone else, but the people of Mu-the world's second strongest superpower and what was left of the continent's native peoples-all believed it. So, it was believable, but it hadn't happened in so long that it was hard to believe it had happened again.
But, as Admiral Ioveanu had put it, the Estovakians were here.
"So…if we sail northwest from here, we'll find your homeland?" Admiral Rokas asked.
"You should not." Admiral Ioveanu said quickly. "We don't know for sure what's going on and everyone at home is jumpy. If you tried approaching, you'd probably be sunk."
"So how can I be sure you're telling the truth?"
"You can't." The Estovakian admiral admitted. "Maybe in time something can be arranged. Our Foreign Minister said that we might send someone down here to make contact in a few days. But until then. We've been ordered to anchor here. And we're staying here." He affirmed. "You're free to stay here too and watch us, but we are not moving." His voice was firm but not condescending. They'd been ordered to do something, and they were going to do it whether or not the Qua-Toynans liked it. It also put the issue on whether things turned violent on the Qua-Toyans instead of them.
"I see…" Admiral Rokas was far from pleased with that declaration, but his earlier thoughts still stood-he probably wouldn't win a straight up fight. But if they insisted on staying here, so would the 1st Fleet to watch them. "I'll relay all of this to my homeland."
"How long will it take for your message to arrive?" Ioveanu asked.
"What?" Rokas didn't understand the question.
"We have a way of instantly communicating with our homeland." The human explained. "How long will it take you to communicate with yours?"
"..." Instead of belittling, Admiral Rokas took this as a sign these humans really did not know where they were. "So do we." He explained. "It's called a manacomm. That's how the ship you stopped last night told our government and why our government sent us. They'll know as soon as I get back to my ship." His Estovakian host was good at maintaining his composure, but he was certainly thinking that Rokas was making sense just like he had earlier.
"'Mana-comm', huh?" Ioveanu pronounced it as two words. "Well then. If we're going to be sitting here staring at each other for the foreseeable future, we should inform both our leaderships."
"Very well." Although this encounter had been far from perfect, it hadn't gone as bad as it possibly could have. If the Foreign Affairs Ministry could take over, it'd be a load off the military's shoulders. Admiral Rokas stuck out his hand again. "You people are very strange. But you appear honest, and you've avoided showing aggression despite clearly being powerful." He glanced at the massive ships again.
Somewhat smiling, Admiral Ioveanu shook his hand again. "We Estovakians are very straightforward people, Admiral. And the only people that have to worry about us," he continued, "are people that have wronged us."
That sentence, or variations of it, would be uttered by thousands across this New World for years to come.
