Centris Island, Altaras Strait

Mysterious fog surrounded an island in the center of the Altaras Strait, obscuring all vision of the heavy military activity across the island. Assuming that the Americans acquired their information from the skies, the Parpaldians decided to generate a cheap, but effective cover that could hide their plans. Although they were correct that the Americans gathered intelligence from up above, they didn’t realize that visual observation is not the only means to collect information.

——

Carrier Strike Group 5, Altaras Strait

“Sir, we’ve got a lot of contacts in the cove, hiding behind the terrain,” a radar operator said, pointing at a screen.

Admiral Hawthorne and Captain Vaughn reviewed the data relayed by the UAV flying over the Parpaldian base, analyzing the dots as they appeared along the coastline of the island. Performing a rough mental calculation, they saw almost a hundred contacts lying in wait, hiding within the crescent shaped cove. Tall cliffs protected the ships from cannon fire, but not from aerial weapons.

“That’s one helluva death trap,” Hawthorne mused.

Vaughn nodded. “Their cannons could do some real work to our armor. If only we had a battleship…”

“Unfortunately, the reactivation of the Iowa won’t be complete until December or so. Our only other option is to hit them from above…” he rubbed his chin. “Hmm, we need more intel; we need to know what we’re targeting.”

“Sir,” Vaughn suggested, “We have RHIBs and smaller drones we can send in for target identification.”

Hawthorne tilted his head, thinking about the plan before he responded, “Very well. Have our teams conduct reconnaissance from the ocean; the drones should have enough range and life to survey the entire cove.”

——

Centris Island

A lone figure stood atop a hastily assembled command structure as he studied the assembly of his fleet. Inhaling the salty ocean breeze, he looked over to his side to see a group of mages steadily producing more fog. He sighed and walked over to his manacomm station, the equipment brushing over his short dark beard as he spoke into it. “Admiral Balus, the trap is set. Our ships lie in wait, ready to fire upon any who dares to enter. The barrels of explosives are also ready to ignite.”

“Excellent work, Commander Mitan. I doubt they will send their large vessels into the cove, so feel free to ignite the barrels whenever you see a viable target. I shall leave this decision to your discretion.”

“Thank you, Admiral,” he said with uncertainty. “However, I still feel… bad; guilt, even.” He paused for a moment as he built up the courage to continue. “These tactics do not sit well with the nature of the Parpaldian Empire. Respectfully, Admiral, we should be the ones launching an offensive against them, not laying defensive traps.”

“I understand your concern, Commander. Believe me, I feel the same way. The objective of war however, is to win. We shall attain victory at any cost, or at the very least, make their victory as bloody and hard-fought as possible. We face not a barbarian nation, but a powerful state similar to the likes of Mu, or even the Holy Mirishial Empire. We must therefore alter our strategies to combat — what I regretfully admit — a force stronger than ours. Adhere to your duties, Commander, and you shall reap the benefits.”

The admiral’s reasoning resonated within Mitan as he slowly saw his logic. “Understood, Admiral. I shall perform as requested of the Emperor. Glory to the Parpaldian Empire!”

——

While the Parpaldian commander talked on his manacomm, several drones buzzed by undetected. Shaped like miniature helicopters, these devices slipped through the fog, their figures indistinguishable from birds due to the poor visibility of the area. They hovered over the base, marking buildings and guard towers. Live feeds from all of the drones were sent back to the Enterprise, where most of the command staff gathered to deliberate.

“Get closer to that port,” Admiral Hawthorne ordered, looking at the fourth video feed. He wondered why the port was so small in relation to the size of the fleet on the radar. If this base was meant to accommodate a fleet for a counterattack — like he initially assumed — then this tiny port wouldn’t suffice. He suspected another purpose for this base.

As the drone came closer to the port, it became clear that the structure in question was no port at all — it was only something built to resemble a port. The American command personnel were surprised; this tactic only surfaced after World War 1 and the onset of aerial reconnaissance. The fact that the Parpaldians built a decoy base despite having fog cover must then imply that they have some awareness of the United States’ advanced data collection abilities. They knew that the Americans could see very well, but didn’t know the extent of this ability. Thus, they hid their decoys with fog.

“There also seems to be a large quantity of magic gems stored here,” the drone operator said, pointing out the increased infrared and exotic radiation coming from the port structure.

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“Interesting…” Hawthorne said, as if he had finally solved a difficult equation.

“Find something, sir?” Vaughn asked.

All eyes turned to the esteemed admiral as he prepared a lecture. “The Parpaldians have magic radar; we know this as a fact. Presumably, they operated under the assumption that we too have magic radar. They must have drawn this conclusion from previous battles we had against the Lourian Kingdom. Then, if they have any knowledge of our maps, they would know that only aerial photography could produce such accuracy.”

Everyone thought of the security at the United States’ primary trade ports. It is impossible to review, much less set tight restrictions on every product that is sold, especially in a nation that praises liberty as much as the US. A simple map could have escaped the confines of America’s borders easily. From this small article, a massive conclusion could thus have been derived.

Hawthorne continued, “With the knowledge that we have ‘madar’ and have aircraft for aerial reconnaissance, they established a base here in Centris Island. Due to the strategic significance of this piece of land, they knew that we would scout this area eventually. They also knew that if the previous assumptions were correct, we would see the incredible magical energy on our hypothetical madar. We wouldn’t, however, have been able to see their fleet due to the sheer reading of the magic gems in the center.”

Everyone nodded, realization reflecting across their faces.

As Hawthorne spoke, he represented his ideas on the table below, adjusting fleet pieces where necessary. “We would have been intrigued by this energy reading, and any ships that we would have sent to investigate would’ve also encountered their fleet lying in wait. In any case, we wouldn’t have fallen for this trap since we have accurate missiles and airpower, but the fact that they set this trap in the first place means that we should reevaluate our assumptions and knowledge of the Parpaldian Empire. We can no longer assume that they are arrogant enough to fight us head on. We must now assume that they are willing to fight dirty, and do whatever it takes to survive.”

——

An unreasonable nervousness struck Commander Mitan as he waited for reports from his scouts and the ‘fishing vessels’ he had placed around the island. An hour before his conversation with Admiral Balus, he had received an alert that an American fleet was headed toward the island. Based on their trajectory and speed at the time, they should have already arrived. Where were they?

With a hundred ships of the line and even a couple wyvern lord carriers at his disposal, he felt confident in his ability to take out at least a few enemy ships. However, a voice of doubt infested his mind. What if they never enter the cove? Premonitions of death continued to fester and grow, like a cancerous tumor. Eventually, he became completely engulfed by these unreasonable and unwarranted fears, as if his gut was screaming at him to escape.

With his heart beating like a drum, he surrendered to fear and established his command post deep in the island’s forest. Only then could he calm down and perform his duties as commander. He found it quite interesting how his relief came almost immediately, wondering why this was the case.

His question was answered as soon as it was asked. Streaks of light appeared in the sky, shining brightly through the fog. At first, he recognized them as signal flares from his mages, but then he realized that this didn’t make sense; his units were ordered to use manacomms. The lights soon became brighter, arcing downward like arrows. The sudden realization caused his heart to drop; he felt the anguish and pain of knowing his men were about to die without even having a chance to fight back. Yet, a selfish part of him caused these feelings to subside, replacing them with relief — relief that he and his command staff were out of harm’s way.

He could only watch with helpless pity as the light arrows slammed down onto his ships, first targeting the wyvern carriers and man-o-wars. With explosive force akin to a meteor strike, the targeted vessels were vaporized while nearby ships were sunk by the force of the resulting shockwaves. His ships tried to move away from the oncoming light arrows, but the projectiles struck too quickly. Even if they had enough time to react, the compact formation of the ships had already sentenced them to certain death.

They all expected quick, easy kills as the enemy fleet funneled into the cove. They didn’t expect this; they didn’t expect an attack from the skies. With panic-induced hysteria and dying breaths, the Parpaldians wondered how the light arrows could have possibly penetrated the thick cover of fog and found their targets. The stunning revelation of the uselessness of their defenses was recorded by the Parpaldian tacticians and relayed back to Esthirant.

“Admiral, please send us new orders!” Mitan pleaded, not knowing what to do in this situation.

Unfortunately, it appeared as if even the great Admiral Balus had no clue what to do. “Just ensure that you lure the Americans into the cove. I shall leave the details to you,” he said before cutting the connection completely.

“... Admiral? Hello?” Mitan fiddled with the manacomm desperately, hoping to contact Naval HQ once more. To his dismay, nothing happened. “Damnit!” He slammed his fists onto the table beside him, startling his subordinates. “What do I do…?”

The first two volleys of light arrows already destroyed most of his heavy vessels and damaged a significant portion of the survivors. Without the firepower of the larger ships, he doubted that he could even manage to sink a single ship. He was thus left with two options: he could have his ships maintain their positions, hoping that the enemy no longer had light arrows to fire; or he could exit the cove and charge at the enemy in a last ditch effort to get some damage done.

While he weighed his options, he realized that no further detonations occurred. He spoke to himself quietly, “Have they truly expended all of their light arrows? No… Based on the battle report from Louria they should have many more of these weapons. Then, that must mean they’re waiting for our next move!”

“What commands shall I issue, sir?” A manacomm technician spoke.

“I…” he paused, taking new factors into consideration. Admiral Balus and Naval HQ likely abandoned his unit already, so he couldn’t count on reinforcements. Knowing the cautiousness of the Americans, they wouldn’t enter the cove to finish the job, perhaps even opting to starve out his unit, if they didn’t plan on using more light arrows. Clearly, Mitan found himself in a hopeless situation — one in which there was no correct move. No correct move, he thought, except for one. Sighing deeply, he made his decision. At the very least, some of his men might be able to see their families again.

——

With an intrigued expression, Hawthorne eyed the lone contact on the radar as it left the confines of the island. “Hold fire,” he said. “Let’s get a visual on this ship.”

A drone flew toward the now-stationary vessel, which had stopped right in front of the entrance to the cove. Within a couple minutes, the drone got close enough for visual confirmation. “A white flag?” Vaughn asked with a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Sure looks like it,” Hawthorne said, crossing his arms. He then turned toward the drone operator. “The drone’s got a speaker system, right?”

The operator nodded, “It does, sir.” He handed over a headset, which Hawthorne promptly took.

Adjusting the mic, he waited for the drone to get within an audible distance. “Attention Parpaldian vessel, your flag of surrender has been verified. Please direct the remainder of your fleet out of the cove and prepare for boarding.”

A few minutes later, the conglomeration of radar signatures began to exit in an orderly fashion. Hawthorne breathed a sigh of relief, pleased that the battle resolved itself in a relatively easy manner. He was also pleased that he didn’t have to expend more missiles or deploy his aircraft to finish off the Parpaldian fleet.

“So the famed conquerors of Philades are really surrendering…” Hawthorne muttered.

“Sir, we’re being informed to steer our fleet clear of the entrance while the Parpaldians remove their mines,” Captain Vaughn said, relaying a message from the boarding team.

“I see. Lieutenant Jameson,” he nodded in the young officer’s direction, signaling to send the order to the rest of the fleet. After seeing the lieutenant reach for his equipment, he turned away to look toward the sea. “Mines, huh?”

“That’s right, sir,” Vaughn said, standing by his side.

“Hmph. I just hope these Parpaldians don’t get too desperate. Desperation will make things messy. Messy situations might push us too far. And who knows just how hard we’ll snap, especially now that there ain’t any other countries holding us back.”