OFS Kestrel II, off the coast of the Kingdom of Altaras — November 26, 2019/1639
All right, everyone; settle down! Settle down!
As you all know, the Kingdom of Altaras has asked the IUN for peacekeeping forces to defend its shores against an imminent invasion by the Parpaldia Empire. In response, the Osean Federation announced that it and a coalition of Third Civilized Region states would be forming a naval quarantine of the northern coast of Altaras—as the closest carrier fleets to the island kingdom, the Kestrel II and the Admiral Andersen were reassigned to this particular duty and are now heading post haste to the capital of Le Brias to assist with the task at hand.
Unfortunately, Parpaldia appears to already be on the move: satellite imagery detected over 324 naval vessels setting off from Eshirant at around the same time the Princess gave her speech in Bana City, and we’re receiving scattered reports from the Altarans that their navy and wyvern fleets were engaged over a hundred kilometres from the coasts of the Rubile Plain, itself less than ten kilometres from the capital. Worse still, the Admiral Andersen carrier has encountered engine problems and won’t be able to directly assist us for another hour or two—our allies in Qua-Toyne, Louria, and Quila are still mustering their own naval contingents and therefore won’t arrive in Altaras until next week. In comparison, we have only about a dozen vessels, including the Kestrel II itself—we’re grossly outnumbered and on our own, but we cannot allow the Parpaldians to land even a single soldier on Altaras. However, we have something that the Parpaldians do not have: better ships, better weapons, better planes, and better pilots such as yourselves.
On our current course, the Kestrel II will arrive at Le Brias within the hour, but the invasion fleet will arrive to make landfall shortly thereafter. OMDF vessels will intercept the Parpaldians and attempt to force them to pull back, but have orders to open fire if deemed necessary; as their air cover, you will be tasked with establishing air superiority and neutralising the enemy fleet before they get too close to our vessels. Pick your weapons wisely, as this will likely be a long and difficult fight.
I don’t need to say this again, but a lot of people throughout Elysia are watching us—the Parpaldia Empire is viewed by many as the premier superpower of the Third Civilization Region, and whatever happens in the next three hours could easily affect Osea’s long-term diplomatic standing and the lives of millions of people throughout this region and beyond.
You’ve all been pivotal in establishing the name of Osea and the IUN throughout Elysia. Let’s see if we can live up to it once more, in our greatest challenge yet.
Good luck!
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Ten kilometres off the coast of Le Brias, Kingdom of Altaras — November 26, 2019
“This is Sky Keeper. We’ve just received word from the Altaran government: their entire navy and air force was almost completely wiped out by the Parpaldian invasion force, and the survivors have either surrendered or are retreating back to the capital.”
“Damn it, we didn’t get here in time! Where’s the enemy fleet right now?”
“Five kilometres from our position, Golem One. The Kestrel II fleet will be able to manoeuvre themselves to directly intercept the main bulk of the Parpaldian fleet in about three minutes.”
“So what’s our ROE for this situation?”
“Don’t fire until the Parpaldians open fire or HQ gives the signal to do so. Osea’s not at war with the Empire yet, and Bright Hill’s keen on making sure it’s Eshirant who starts anything.”
Clown frowned in confusion. “Huh…copy.”
“But the Parpaldians already opened fire on the Altarans! The war’s pretty much started, so why are we still acting like they’re just going to respect the IUN’s declaration?!”
“Because the diplomats in Bana City still think that they might be able to salvage the whole situation with our presence here, Brownie.” Knocker sighed. “Not that I’m counting on even Harling to pull some kind of miracle after everything goes down…”
“Mage Two,” Sky Keeper remarked, “you’re cleared for takeoff. Join up with Mage One as soon as possible, then form up along the defensive line.”
From the deck of the Kestrel II, a Hornet burst into life—its engines roared as it shot off the carrier and into the air, spinning gracefully above the waves even as the fighter slowly soared to its fellow companions. Clown glanced at his wingman, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the weapon attached to the plane’s underbelly.
“Trigger, why did you bring a railgun?”
“Wait, he brought what?”
Brownie snickered as her Falcon joined up with Knocker, the two pilots glancing at the unusual device. “Trigger, what exactly do you think you’re going to do with an EML? We’re not exactly fighting big monsters today, and that thing only has twenty-two rounds!”
“Well, wood doesn’t exactly pose much of a threat to projectiles breaking the sound barrier—with enough skill, Trigger could easily knock down quite a few boats with just a single round or two.”
“If you say so, flight lead…”
“Golem and Mage, listen up: we’ve reached the rendezvous point, and our naval vessels have sighted the Parpaldian navy. This is it: get ready to fight at a moment’s notice!”
Clown nodded, turning to gesture at his wingman. “Copy, Sky Keeper. Trigger, let’s go!”
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From his vessel, General Sius stared in astonishment at the fleet of metal ships that lay right between the Parpaldians and the shores of Altaras. “So these are the Osean ships we’ve been hearing about…”
“A dozen vessels versus a few hundred of ours? This is their idea of a blockade?”
The Parpaldian officer shook his head. “If these were wooden vessels like the Altarans we just destroyed, Captain Bafram, I wouldn’t be that concerned. Considering their likeness to Mu’s ships, however—”
“We’re not some mere fleet of schooners like the Lourians, Sius! We have the finest ships-of-the-line and more wyverns than anyone else in the Third Civilized Region—heck, we could arguably just rush the whole lot and capture the Oseans with our magic gems before they even fire a single shot!”
“You clearly haven’t been to Selatapura, have you?”
The captain scoffed. “What does that have to do with anything? Smoke and illusions that just happened to fool even the mighty Mirishials, that’s what’s over there! If they were anywhere near as powerful as everyone says, we wouldn’t have made it this far or even this close to these people!”
“Or maybe the Oseans are just softer than we give them credit for.”
“Pah, that goes without saying. Consorting with barbarians in the name of ‘peace’ and calling us barbaric, my ass…what’s Martal’s plan for these people, by the way?”
“Push past the Oseans, consolidate our current holdings and secure Altaras at all costs. A decisive show of force to the world that our glorious Parpaldia is still the mighty superpower that it truly is, Osea’s objections notwithstanding.”
“Ahhh…so we are finally going to war with them?”
“If, and if, it comes to that, Bafram. Don’t start anything until I say so, alright?”
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about me! I can wait just a little longer to show these savages what true civilization looks like, trust me—”
“General! We’re receiving a transmission on the mannacomms!”
Bafram and Sius quickly turned to face the aide. “Orders from Eshirant?”
“Negative, sir. It’s from the Osean fleet; their commanding officer’s hailing us on an open frequency.”
Glancing at the other officers on deck, Sius turned and nodded. “Very well, let’s see what they have to say. Turn the volume up, will you?”
“…this is Admiral Weeker of the OFS Kestrel II, calling for the commanding officer of the Parpaldian forces heading towards Altaras on behalf of the Kingdom of Altaras and the International United Nations. I repeat, this is Admiral…”
Bafram turned to his naval counterpart. “Well, are you going to answer him or not?”
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“This is General Sius of the Parpaldia Imperial Navy to the commanding officer of the Kestrel II. Proceed with your message.”
From the bridge of the Kestrel II, Admiral Weeker’s eyes narrowed determinedly at the enemy fleet bearing down on the aircraft carrier. Already he could see the escorts’ guns slowly rotate towards the Parpaldians, in anticipation of what the Osean officer suspected was already all but inevitable; his voice found its words, regardless, and his mouth opened to transmit his message to its recipient.
“On behalf of the International United Nations, we wish to inform you that your fleet’s presence in the territorial waters of the Kingdom of Altaras, and your actions against the naval and aerial forces defending the Kingdom, are a violation of both Altaras’s sovereignty and the IUN naval quarantine around the island nation as proscribed under Resolution 1514 of the Assembly of Nations. We therefore ask you to remove your fleet from these waters immediately, or else we will be compelled under international law and our own orders to open fire on your fleet until you comply.”
Silence reigned for a few moments before a second voice in the static faintly burst out—angry, indignant even, as it engaged the original voice in a heated argument. A minute passed, the Parpaldian ships showing no sign of stopping, before General Sius’s voice snapped back.
“Stand by while I consult my superiors.”
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“Eshirant, are you hearing this?”
“The gall of these barbarians! They refuse to let us in their vaulted club and then demand that we follow their rules?! General Sius, order these morons to get out of the way!”
“Affirmative, Lady Remille. Chief Martal, should I follow through with the Auditor’s commands?”
“Proceed. Give them a final warning, and engage if they refuse to comply. Secure their vessels for our own researchers to analyse, and report back if you acquire any captives—they may be savages, but their weapons may prove useful in our own pursuits.”
Sius turned to gesture at a nearby naval officer, who nodded and quickly left to signal the other vessels.
“Admiral Weeker, the Parpaldia Empire is not a member of the International United Nations and does not recognize its perceived authority as the primary arbiter of affairs in the Third Civilized Region; such positions belong solely to the Parpaldia Empire and no one else. We therefore order you to stand aside and allow our vessels to conduct our invasion of Altaras as a rightful extension of our power and influence within this region.”
“And if we are compelled by our own laws to refuse?”
“We do not care for your laws. You will obey ours soon enough.”
The Osean admiral’s sigh of resignation was palpable through the transmission. “Well, don’t say we didn’t warn you. Hail us again on this frequency once you’ve changed your mind, out…someone give those fighters the clearance to—”
A click on the comm indicated Sius’s counterpart had hung up, leaving the general and the captain beside him to glance at each other in disbelief.
“They’re not actually going to fight us, are they?”
“If they turn back now, they lose face; if we turn back or stop altogether, the Empire admits defeat to Altaras and risks losing face before Mu and Milishial. Our orders are clear: advance, and overwhelm and capture the Osean ships if they dare attack us.”
The Parpaldian general turned to the other officers present. “Deploy all our wyverns! Have the First Division turn to face the Osean vessels and prepare to fire on my command! All other ships are to activate their magic gems and sail to the coast at full speed—I don’t care if they try to stop all of us; we outnumber them by a significant factor!”
“General, their metal wyverns are approaching us!”
Six angular metallic wings descended onto the waters of Altaras, skimming right above the waves and spraying the air as they rapidly closed the gap between themselves and the Parpaldian invaders. At the very front of the wedge lay a single craft, slightly different compared to the five others: its wings were sharper and its fuselage far less rotund, its main weapon being not the guided light arrows on the tips of its companions’ wings but a geometrically bizarre object mounted on the beast’s belly—a cannon, presumably with its own payload primed and prepared inside. Perhaps something that might pose a challenge to his wyverns, but how such a weapon would be able to pose a threat to his entire fleet, Sius wondered…
The cannon beneath the craft opened, and lightning crackled from what the general realised to his horror was its mouth—
“By the Ancient Sorcerous Empire, that metal wyvern’s going to fire at us! Everyone—”
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The sky split in half—as well as over a hundred unsuspecting Parpaldian vessels—as the railgun beneath Trigger’s Hornet launched a singular projectile at over six thousand metres per second through the hull of the mighty Parpaldian flagship, its sheer kinetic force puncturing the shining jewel of the Empire and pulverising the structure into millions of wooden shards in the span of a single second. Igniting the ship-of-the-line’s entire hold of ammunition and magic gems with the energy once designed to atomize asteroids, the round simply continued to travel through the fleet as Sius and Bafram’s ship vanished into a rapidly expanding ball of light, air, and sound, sending sailors, soldiers, and equipment flying across the sea.
From his cockpit, Clown stared in abject horror at the sheer carnage below. “Whoa! That’s just…Trigger, that’s…”
“Mage Two, I think that railgun shell caused a chain reaction on the flagship,” Knocker glumly remarked, “but you’ve wiped out what might be a significant chunk of the Parpaldian leadership. It’s going to be a lot harder to get someone to order the whole lot to waive off once we’ve made our point…”
“Stand by, I’m receiving new orders from HQ,” Sky Keeper quickly replied over the radio. “Golem and Mage, we’ve identified several key vessels where we believe the remaining Parpaldian officers in charge of the invasion are currently stationed—do not engage, disable, or destroy these ships. All other vessels, however, are cleared for free engagement; eliminate them before they can pose a direct threat to the carrier fleet or land on Altaras—”
“Those wyvern carriers, over there by the northeast! They’re trying to launch their air assets!”
Clown’s head whirled to the direction Brownie pointed out, where several Parpaldian beasts had emerged on deck and were now setting off from the platforms. “Copy, got a visual. Trigger, let’s take out those carriers before anything else; flight lead, how about you swat all of the birds that make it out of the sky?”
Knocker chuckled. “I like your idea, Clown. Golem, on me!”
The four F-16s shot out of formation and swooped down to fire on the ascending wyverns; the two planes of Mage Squadron pushed forward, Clown’s Falcon arcing gracefully around Trigger’s Super Hornet as both began to fire their weapons. A spray of machine gun fire rained down on the decks like hailstorms of death, while guided arrows found their targets and shattered ships into splinters and magical fireballs—and Trigger’s railgun crackled to life once more and fired, puncturing another batch of Parpaldian crafts as if their magically enhanced hulls were no tougher than paper.
“Fire all cannons! Get those cruise missiles and AA guns at the ready!”
The sailors of the Kestrel II and its escorts braced as the Parpaldian ships-of-the-line closest to their formation fired their cannons—many cannonballs bounced harmlessly off the hulls or splashed into the water in spite of their enhancements, but a few banged hard against the metal plating and left foreboding dents and scars. The guns and cannons of the Osean destroyers and frigates present were quick to reply, the air crackling with sound as shells found their mark and explosions dotted the enemy formation; blasts of fiery blue frequently marked the violent end of yet another transport or ship-of-the-line, either caught in the blast of its own ammunition or instantly eviscerated by magnetically-propelled supersonic projectiles.
A fleet of wyverns shot through the firestorm, their wings outstretched as their pilots desperately sought their target: the Kestrel II itself.
“Incoming enemy air! Sky Keeper, we need air support on our position, now!”
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Dragon Knight Commander Chirino glanced back at the several soldiers clinging desperately to his wyvern. “Are you alright back there?”
“Don’t worry about us, Commander! Getting us to those ships takes precedence above all else!”
“Copy that!” Reaching for his mannacomm, Chirino angrily barked, “All right, everyone; you know our mission! We’re to evade their weapons and land our troops on that carrier—if we can capture their commanding officers, we’ll be able to force these Osean barbarians to surrender before they wipe out the entire fleet! Don’t even think about turning back—the lives of everyone else depend on us!”
The whoops and cheers of every soldier and pilot present gave the commander a surge of confidence as he and his wingmen swooped down from the sky, rapidly descending towards the Kestrel II and its naval escorts. While nothing compared to the fabled Wyvern Overlords rumoured to be in production in Eshirant, his own beasts were among the fastest and deadliest in the Third Civilized Region—and if the stories about the eldritch technological feats of the Oseans were anywhere close to the truth, then these mighty Parpaldian beasts were about to face their greatest challenge yet.
“They’re firing at us! Evade, evade! Everyone, hold on!”
Chirino’s wyvern twisted and turned as a spray of metallic projectiles sought their target, only barely dodging it and its passengers by mere inches. Many others were not so lucky—the hail of fire shredded beast and man alike, sending both tumbling down into the waters below; guided arrows found their targets and incinerated what little body parts hadn’t already been blown up and eviscerated; the sky sparkled, crackled, and split in half, with entire batches of wyverns and pilots simply disappearing into a faint reddish mist. A scream from the back suggested one of Chirino’s passengers had either fallen off or got struck by the Osean weapons, yet he still shot forward even in the face of near-certain death.
“Alpha One to all callsigns! How many of us are left?”
“Less than ten, sir! Their anti-air weapons are incredibly effective!”
“Damn it! Keep going—we’re dead if we turn back, anyway!”
“Roger—aaargh!”
“Commander, enemy air units inbound! Watch out for their guided arrows!”
The metallic wyvern that had annihilated the Pall was rapidly approaching the surviving air units from the rear, its own rotund escorts not far behind—with unimaginable speeds, the fighter shot past Chirino’s beast, missing the commander by a few feet; its body arced and turned to face the Parpaldian beasts even as it continued to shoot forwards, the grey Osean star and the orange demonic emblem on its wings both mockingly leering at him as he noticed to his horror the guided arrows on its wings detaching and igniting and blue lightning sparking from the underside—
“Evade, evade! All callsigns, evade that thing’s fire—”
Chirino’s ears exploded with pain as red rain sprayed on his helmet and armour plates. His hearing all but temporarily brutalised, silence reigned even as he saw the eviscerated remains of his wingmen, where moments ago they had been proud and valiant soldiers of the Empire. He looked back—the rear half of his wyvern was gone, the passengers behind him similarly vaporised by the projectile that demonic craft had bore upon his men. His eyes widened in panic, it dawning upon him that his means of flight was dead and the sea below was rapidly approaching—
Realising he was about to crash into the waters right before the carrier, Chrino spread his arms wide and jumped.
His aim was true; he landed on the edge of the Kestrel II with a loud crash, his armour and helmet scraping loudly and angrily against the foreign structure. A splash in the background suggested his valiant steed had been claimed by the straits; his eyes shut for a brief moment as he sent a prayer to the gods for his beloved beast and the now-dead men and creatures under his command.
Slowly and painfully rising to his feet—all but certain that the impact had probably broken something inside his body—Chirino glimpsed several figures in the distance, all presumably running towards him. His eyes flared in anger, his hands reaching for and drawing out his sword as he slowly stepped forward in anticipation of striking down his foes.
“Die, Osean scum! Glory to Parpaldia—”
A sharp staccato cut his words short as a sharp pain instantly struck his chest, the commander stumbling and collapsing to the ground and his sword clattering uselessly on the ground as he writhed in agony. Several hands roughly rolled him onto his stomach as his wrists were bound together, all while one of Chirino’s captors began calling out to the other sailors on deck.
“Hostile down! Somebody tell the Admiral that we’ve captured a prisoner!”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
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“Sius! Sius!”
Bafram gasped for air as he frantically glanced around the floating wreckage and bodies for his companion. Even as the captain’s calls rang across the waters of Altaras, the screams of countless sailors and the explosions of the Parpaldian vessels reverberated throughout the battlefield as the metal wyverns above continued to rain down death and destruction on the would-be-invaders—as he swam, Bafram saw the demonic beast of metal that had nearly wiped out the entire leadership twist and turn in the skies above, a salvo of its flaming guided arrows sending another ship to its doom or its eldritch appendage shattering entire transports and wyvern carriers with the wrath of the Ancient Sorcerous Empire itself.
“Captain?”
The officer’s eyes widened as he saw his commanding officer clinging to an upturned mast, quickly swimming through the treacherous waters to reach him. “Sius! Damn it, Sius! Are you all right?!”
“M-my leg…I can’t feel either of my legs…”
The blue waters had transformed into a sickly ochre of red that Bafram could easily guess as to its origin, and a vague metallic stench threatened to overwhelm even the seasoned captain with nausea. Yet determination for him and the most important man in the Parpaldian fleet to survive kept him from succumbing to biological instinct, brushing past corpses and body parts as the Captain swam desperately to his commanding officer.
“Don’t die on me just yet, General! Parpaldia’s counting on you! Just hold on a bit longer—”
A thunderous explosion rocked the waters as they splashed on the surviving sailors of the Mille; a fireball erupted from the Masale—the last wyvern carrier not visibly on fire or sinking—as its cargo and crew were obliterated by a single blast from the orange demon that mocked the mighty Empire and its valiant men. Bafram’s eyes flared with anger as he snarled in agony and frustration at the upstart barbarians that had dared to challenge his country and prevailed—not through valour and courage like the glorious Parpaldians, but by deceit and foul sorcery straight from the ancient tales of old.
“Curse these damn Oseans! They’ll pay for this!”
Spotting a Parpaldian ship-of-the-line that had somehow not been sunk by the opposing navy, Bafram began gesticulating wildly at the vessel, hoping to attract the attention of any sailors above deck.
“Hey! Over here! Bring up the General to your vessel! We need him alive to direct the battle—and someone get me a damn manacomm to the Naval Headquarters!”
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“This is AWACS Long Caster to Sky Keeper, do you copy? I say again, do you copy?”
Sky Keeper shot up in surprise. “Long Caster, this is Sky Keeper, reading you loud and clear! Are you and the rest of the reinforcements here?”
“Yes, and no: the Admiral Andersen’s still fifteen minutes out, but HQ’s deployed us and its entire helicopter regiment to assist the Kestrel II. We’re coming in from the north, right behind the Parpaldian fleet—”
“You’re going to enclose the Parpaldians here? Well, I’ll be damned!”
“Damned’s a word I’d reserve for these fancy-dress invaders once we’re done with them, Mage One,” Wiseman casually replied over the radio. “Now, you got any spare targets for a bunch of extra pilots to shoot at?”
With a grin, Sky Keeper quickly began pressing several buttons on his console. “We’ve still got over a hundred and fifteen ships left and a few surviving wyverns over the remainder; several ships-of-the-line appear to be command vessels and are to be left untouched until the Kestrel II can hail them or they ask to surrender. Everything else is fair game.”
“All right, folks—let’s reel these Parpaldians in!”
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Parpaldia Navy Headquarters, Eshirant, Parpaldia Empire — November 26, 2019
“Vice Admiral! We’ve reestablished communications with Captain Bafram!”
Strategist Chief Martal and Vice Admiral Barth looked up from the briefing table in surprise. “Bafram? The infantry officer survived?”
“Him and General Sius, sir. Apparently, they barely managed to survive the explosion that destroyed the Mille, but the General was critically injured in the blast—Captain Bafram’s taken temporary command and is asking you for orders regarding our remaining vessels.”
Barth frowned. “Have we dealt any casualties on the Osean fleet?”
“No, sir. Their metal wyverns have both destroyed our own wyvern fleets and incapacitated or sunk most of our carriers and ships-of-the-line, and our vessels can’t outmanoeuvre or outgun either them or the actual fleet. We’re also receiving reports that another Osean carrier and its escorts have entered the battle and will likely trap our remaining ships if we do not pull back from our present position.”
Marth turned to Bartal. “If we expend all of our remaining magical resources, would we be able to break out and make a run for Eshirant?”
“Assuming their technological capabilities are on par with Mu, such an approach would be unlikely to succeed. Even if the invasion fleet managed to get past the Osean ships—which our own ships-of-the-line have already proven incapable of achieving—we would have to avoid their weapons fire and the guided arrows of their metal wyverns. It’s near impossible, much as it pains me to admit.”
“Well, we can’t retreat, either! We’re diplomatically isolated from the rest of Elysia, and we all know we might lose our rightful position as the Third Civilized Region superpower to these barbarians if anything resembling a defeat or a rout takes place! We’re damned if we do, damned if we don’t—”
“Order the fleet to retreat.”
The room fell silent as all eyes turned to Supreme Commander Arde, who had quietly observed the proceedings without saying a single word until now. Both Marth and Bartal glanced at Arde in astonishment, the command given by the esteemed military officer unprecedented for what should have been a routine subjugation of yet another barbarian nation in their sphere of influence.
“Sir?”
“I’ve just received word from the Emperor himself that Lady Remille and the rest of the Foreign Affairs Department have already begun to devise retaliatory actions against the Osean Federation for their interference in our rightful actions. As of now, needlessly throwing away the lives of our men would only serve to weaken our country for the fight that lies ahead.”
Martal frowned. “I take it we will be redirecting our efforts to recovering our men from these barbarians?”
“Among other things, men. Among many other things…”
Barth turned with uncertainty to Martal, who grimly nodded.
“Give the order.”
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“This is General Bafram, acting commander of the Parpaldian Imperial Fleet engaged with the IUN fleet in Altaras, requesting a parley with Admiral Weeker of the OFS Kestrel II.”
Clown looked up from his console in surprise. “They want to talk to us? Sky Keeper, did we do it?”
“Stand by, Golem and Mage. All callsigns, hold fire—the Parpaldians might be finally looking to parley with us again—”
“This is Admiral Weeker of the OFS Kestrel II. Send your message.”
“Admiral Weeker, the gods have favoured the Oseans in this battle, and we recognize that Parpaldia will lay no hand on the Kingdom of Altaras today or as long as your ships protect these shores. As much as it pains me to do so, I would therefore like to ask you to allow our surviving vessels to either leave these lands unmolested, or to alternately surrender to your custody and whatever mercy you may deem appropriate for us.”
“If our circumstances had been different and our fates switched, you might not have been so generous with your words, General…”
“We are nothing like you; that much is clear. We ask that you not prove otherwise, for the sake of my men and their lives.”
A pause. “General Bafram, stand by while I consult my superiors. HQ, do you copy?”
“We read you loud and clear, Kestrel II. We’re communicating with the Altaran government regarding the Parpaldian general’s request…stand by…stand by…”
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“General Bafram, be advised: the Kingdom of Altaras has stated that the option for your fleet to leave these waters is, regrettably, no longer possible; its government has now demanded that you, your personnel, and all naval vessels and crew involved with the illegal invasion of its territory surrender to their custody. We have their and our assurances that you and your people will be treated in accordance with international law, and will be safely returned to Eshirant once a diplomatic arrangement is agreed upon between your Empire and the Kingdom itself. Do you accept this request?”
“They…they want us to…”
The coterie of weary sailors and soldiers sheltering aboard the Ludius glanced uneasily at Bafram and Sius, their expressions a mixture of disgruntlement, exhaustion, and indignation at the unprecedented demands.
“Captain,” a young Parpaldian sailor warily began, “you wouldn’t…you wouldn’t subject our Empire to such humiliating terms, would you, sir?! We’re the soldiers of the superpower of the Third Civilized Region, and surely…”
“Or surely what, Ensign? Our resolve and determination would somehow prevail against a threat that strikes down our ships with no hesitation, against birds that can outpace and outfight us? Would you take the responsibility for ordering the deaths of five thousand fellow countrymen for a fight against a foe that they lack the ability to defend themselves against?”
The boy shrunk, but his expression still harboured a faint hint of defiance. “Better than simply succumbing to an army of barbarians, Captain!”
“Then tell every person around you to get back on deck and fight on! Oh, wait, they’re all half-dead or missing a limb or two! How about you get our wyverns to cover us—wait, they’re sinking to the bottom of the Strait! How about we get our boats to charge the enemy with all that we’ve got—as if we even have any boats left to pose a threat—”
“Bafram, that’s enough!”
The captain turned to Sius, who had somehow managed to sit up on his bunk in spite of his injuries. Taking the hint, Bafram stood down, sitting back down beside the mannacomm as the general began to address the room.
“Regardless of whether or not we surrender, Parpaldia will retaliate against Osea for what happened today—if we surrender, however, we all live to see another day, and we might just be able to live long enough to see our honour avenged by our fellow countrymen.” Sius turned to the other Parpaldians present. “So what shall it be, men of Parpaldia—shall we become martyrs, victims of a brutal and senseless massacre with no other purpose than to harden our country’s resolve? Or shall we become heroes to be rescued and celebrated for our valiant and honourable actions even in the face of total annihilation before a barbaric foe? What shall it be?”
The men glanced at each other, considering the option laid out for them. Compared to certain death, the prospect of what would ultimately be a brief moment of humiliation in return for the possible chance of honourable defeat almost seemed to be far more appealing. Bafram himself appeared struck by the general’s words; with a deep sigh, he glanced back at him, resignation in his voice as he replied.
“General, I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Sius raised an eyebrow, gesturing to everyone present. “Well, what else is there for us to do?”
The faces of every person in the room were grim and resentful, but none dared speak. Bafram, his eyes still focused on Sius, grimly nodded and reached for the mannacom.
“This is General Bafram to Admiral Weeker…I would like to accede to the demand laid out by the Kingdom of Altaras and surrender to their custody.”
“Copy. Stand by for further instructions…”
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“All units, cease fighting! We’ve just received confirmation from HQ that the surviving Parpaldians are surrendering. Mission complete, everyone!”
Cheers broke out amongst the Osean forces as Sky Keeper’s news quickly spread, the radio crackling with whoops and shouts of joy from both the LRSSG and the IUN peacekeepers. Clown nodded in satisfaction, before turning down to look at the remaining Parpaldian vessels—even as he soared past, the would-be-invaders were either striking their colours and raising a mixture of white flags or waving their units colors to the left of their ships (their version of surrender, the Osean suspected).
A solitary sigh amidst the celebrations caught the veteran pilot’s attention; recognising the voice as Knocker’s, Clown spoke up. “Flight lead, you don’t seem very enthusiastic.”
“You do realise Parpaldia’s not going to be very happy with this turn of events, right?”
“Well, if they do pick another fight, we’ll probably just trash them again. The same thing we’ve always done ever since we first arrived here in Elysia, and it’s always got the same results.”
“This isn’t some small kingdom or a bunch of pirates and monsters we’re dealing with, Clown—it’s the equivalent of the Eruseans or even the Yukes, by the locals’ standards. If things go south, we could be looking at something big here.”
The pilot smirked. “Well, that’s for us to deal with once we get there. Right, Trigger?”
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Bright Hill, Oured, Osean Federation — October 5, 2019/1639
“So…the Arkbird Project’s a go?”
From the sofa, Bartlett shrugged. “The updated design’s been tested and verified, and once Congress passes the required legislation by next week, we’ll start constructing the whole damned thing sometime next month.”
Standing at the window of the President’s official residence and staring at the blue skies, Harling nodded. “And what does Nagase think about the whole thing?”
“Pissed as hell. Well, not really—she was quite happy about a new Arkbird being made, although concerned like me about some Grey Men getting their hands on the thing again.”
“Why else do you think we offered her command of the Mark II?”
The president chuckled and shook his head. “Indeed. Have you heard about what’s happening to Pilgrim Two?”
“Something about restructuring and peacekeeping integration…you do know I don’t exactly have the same security clearances I used to have as the President, right?”
“Don’t worry, we’ll be making an official announcement over the New Year. Osea’s basically integrating the Lighthouse, the Arkbird, the Arsenal Birds, the successor to the Pilgrim Program, and a couple of experimental aircraft into a new division of the Defense Force and the PKF—it’ll mainly be for countering and eliminating the Ravernal satellites over the next few years, but we’re also trying to see if we can develop the whole thing into a QRF beyond the OADF’s current deployment range.”
Harling nodded thoughtfully. “Any name to the whole project?”
“Nothing interesting yet—it’ll probably be something boring and straight to the point like the Space Peacekeeping Force or something like that. Besides, we do know how the media seems to be rather good at making up stuff like that, right?”
“Why not just arrange for new airbases in the other Civilized Regions for our regular Air Force?”
“One, we’re anticipating future conflicts around a massive world like Elysia will escalate faster than our conventional air assets will be able to react, and how the IUN will respond to ongoing crises as our membership increases can and will affect its international reputation. Two, any increased conventional military presence in our part of the world as of now already risks antagonising the Parpaldians—they’re already quite unhappy that our sphere of influence already eclipses theirs by a significant factor, and by the looks of it—and partially your observations, might I add—they’re confident that a fight with us would somehow result in a more favourable outcome to them rather than…well, simply changing with the times.”
The ambassador shook his head. “Jack, you’re working under two assumptions: that the Parpaldians recognize the negative impacts of their actions, and that they’re willing to change their ways to meet our standards. This is a world where might makes right, and the Empire’s been in a unique situation where they’ve never once been the technologically inferior side until now; to them, the times haven’t changed jet yet—we’re just some random loudmouth with not much of a bite and a few fancy toys and jewels to compensate.”
“So what exactly are you suggesting, that we play their game? Send another carrier fleet to Eshirant on a ‘goodwill tour’ as some kind of gunboat diplomacy?”
“On the contrary, what we’re doing at the moment seems to be the right approach: subtly dismantling their entire diplomatic and economic network and replacing it with ours, talking with Mu and Milishial over Eshirant’s heads, and keeping in touch with the local leadership over encouraging social reforms in return for closer trade relations. If the Empire decides to start a war with us, they’ll quickly find that they won’t have anyone on their side; if they remain on their current course of being all high and mighty, then sheer necessity will eventually force them to eat their words and join us or risk complete economic and political ruin.”
The President shifted uneasily on his seat. “So that’s our foreign policy? Changing the world to our image and gently nudging the outliers into line?”
“It’s a feasible end goal; besides, if it works, we can focus our attention on much more pressing things like the Ravernals or whatever else exists out here.”
“Then what about in the long run, after Parpaldia stops being a threat? What if the other people we meet here in Elysia don’t want that peace that you aspire for? What if Parpaldia decides to start a war before they even arrive at that point?”
Harling smirked. “Well, that’s why we have pilots like you, Jack…”
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“Vincent, I’ll be honest with you—you were a great leader during the war, but I sure as hell didn’t vote for you during your reelection campaign.”
Harling raised an eyebrow as the two walked towards the helipad, where a transport awaited to bring the ambassador back to his plane. “Oh?”
“Mind you, I agreed with many of your policies when you were running for office. I just…kind of felt that you were a tad bit naive about simply brushing away decades of unease between us and everyone else on the planet. You do know how many people felt about us Oseans back in the day, right?”
“Power-hungry, possible conquerors in search of land and resources in order to survive? I’ve heard that before.”
“They weren’t wrong.”
“Maybe they weren’t. We’d know, the Belkan War and everything right before Ulysses hit…did I ever tell you about the time I escaped the Usean coup back in the nineties?”
Bartlett paused. “You were in Usea when that whole shitshow happened?”
“Against my own will, as luck would have it. I was one of the greenhorns in the Foreign Office who opposed extending that pact to the Southern Useans—as you can probably tell, I lost that argument. The higher-ups decided to send me along with the delegation as some kind of punishment, but then it was suddenly me who was proven right and suffering the consequences of their actions, dodging bullets left and right while somehow managing to sneak back to Oured…”
“Let me guess,” the President drily remarked, “they got the blame and you got the last laugh?”
“The new administration put me in charge of the whole department sometime after the war ended. Whole career took off after that, and the rest is history.”
Jack shook his head incredulously, looking at the sunset over the Oured skyline. “So, a pacifist right from the start?”
“We’ve had nothing but wars and destruction in the past fifty years and not a lot to show for it—just a nuclear wasteland where Belka used to be and half of the planet not trusting us whenever the situation actually calls for us to step up. Elysia’s a good place for us to wipe the slate clean and start again on the right foot—we just need to make sure we don’t come across as the threats we might have been to the Old World all those years ago.”
Nodding grudgingly, Bartlett vaguely recalled the documents on his desk many months ago—maps, outlines, and sketches of unusual fighters spotted by spy planes and satellites over Erusea less than a few hours before the Transference that had started this entire mess. “Do you think we might have succeeded in achieving world peace had we stayed on Earth a bit longer?”
Harling frowned, and for the first time Bartlett saw doubt and uncertainty in the man’s eyes.
“I think we might have done it, Jack…but something tells me we might not have achieved it in the way that we hoped or even imagined.”
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Foreign Affairs Office, Eshirant, Parpaldia Empire — November 27, 2019
“Lady Remile, greetings. I take it you—”
“Enough with your false platitudes, Ambassador Harling! Care to explain why the Osean Federation fired upon and destroyed an entire invasion fleet en route for the Kingdom of Altaras?”
The Osean shook his head. “The King formally requested our aid in preventing your ships from reaching his lands and subjugating his people—and judging by the long list of highly questionable demands your government made, he may have had a point—”
“A rightful extension of our influence as the superpower of the Third Civilised Region! We would have thought that the past year since your arrival would have since taught you the impudence of impeding on your superiors’ actions, but clearly we need to provide this lesson to Osea ourselves!”
Harling blinked. “I—”
“Read this document I have provided to you—it contains our final offer to the Osean Federation, and the stipulations we would require for us to…forgive this infraction on our nation’s dignity.” Remille gestured to a small document on the table before her counterpart, clearly expecting him to examine it. “Let me make this clear: we will not accept anything else, Ambassador.”
Slowly picking up the sheet of paper, Harling’s eyebrows rose as he quickly read through its contents. “Quite a lot that you ask from Osea, indeed…”
“Considering the circumstances, I would certainly believe these to be reasonable!”
“The return of the captured Parpaldian soldiers, while being something we’d be happy to help facilitate, depends on what arrangement you would be able to make with the Kingdom of Altaras. The Osean Federation could perhaps make a strongly-worded suggestion or apply diplomatic pressure, but I suspect the King would demand certain concessions out of the your government in return for any prisoner deals and reparations—”
“Negotiations with barbarians?! Absurd, and a spit in the face of the countless men who died thanks to your actions!”
“—likewise, any peacekeeper movements in and out of the Kingdom would require the approval of the King; again, concessions and negotiations—”
“Do you intend to hide your blatant lies behind bureaucratic prattle, or do you intend to comply with our demands?!”
“—and your final proposals are both impossible to achieve and unlikely for my superiors to agree with, assuming you’re even aware of the scope of the countless areas that the IUN is currently involved in. Personally, I’d be surprised if even Mu and the Milishials could be able to completely understand our projects in a few days, let alone take command of—”
“Enough! This farce of a meeting is clearly all but useless in the face of you and your government’s obstructions on our rightful actions in Altaras! Let me make this brief: return our men, apologise for your subterfuge, and prostrate yourselves before us lest we choose to send our men to your shores in retaliation—and perhaps we might even see if these fabled Birds and Lighthouses have any element of truth to them, or are those yet more fanciful lies meant to embellish your nation’s image?”
Harling’s eyes narrowed. “You would declare war on the Osean Federation for your own inability to recognize your own folly in antagonising every nation around your borders?”
“And you blame us for that, when your vaulted ‘International United Nations’ has quietly poisoned the minds of our neighbours? We will make use of this alliance to enlighten Elysia of our true nature as the most powerful nation of the Third Civilized Region, and your technology and knowhow will prove invaluable in asserting our position for centuries to come! Surely even your feeble mind would perceive the folly in refusing to join us, Ambassador Harling?”
“You belittle my nation’s technological accomplishments, yet you covet our expertise in the hopes that you may one day wield them. You speak dismissively of the organisation that unites the Third Civilized Region through trade and diplomacy rather than conquest, yet you desire a seat amongst your peers and a chance at becoming its leader. I think that you perceive my nation as a threat to Parpaldia’s existence, yet you believe that your glorious past indicates war with Osea would result in total victory on your end—well, let me tell you of what the ultimate outcome of a conflict with my nation would be: the complete destruction of your military and economic capabilities, and the complete isolation of Eshirant from the rest of the international community for years to come.”
Remile’s eyes shone in anger. “So you refuse?”
“The Osean Federation cannot accept your demands, and suggests that you approach the Kingdom of Altaras if you seek a speedy resolution to the ongoing conflict.”
“You draw the wrath of the Parpaldian Empire and will come to regret it! For you and your nation’s disgraceful actions, consider the Empire to be in a state of war with the Osean Federation—I look forward to seeing you and your leaders supplicating yourselves before the Emperor himself!”
The ambassador slowly nodded. “Very well. I will notify my government of your country’s declaration and order my staff to leave Eshirant immediately—”
“So that’s how your feeble nation responds to our righteous proclamation—a brief consultation, and yet another showy and purple document that means nothing to us? That will not be necessary. Guards!”
The door behind Harling swung open, and a dozen Parpaldian soldiers swiftly swept in, rifles at the ready; realising the intent of his counterpart, the ambassador glanced at Remille in clear surprise.
“Holding an emissary of another country hostage? The sheer number of Parpaldian regulations regarding foreign affairs with sufficiently advanced nations you’ve just trashed could easily fill a whole book, my Lady.”
Remille simply gave back a haughty smile. “Your people sacked a naval fleet and killed thousands of Parpaldians without even a proper formal declaration of war beforehand. At this point, I think we can dispense with the pretence of civilised conduct regarding your nation, Ambassador—be grateful that we have not decided to publicly execute you and your retinue as an example to your people, and that your pitiful life as a conman from a mentally obtuse nation of savages may last just a while longer.”
The Osean ambassador simply sighed, quietly resigned to his imminent fate. “Well, at least it’s not Stier Castle all over again…”
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Bright Hill, Oured, Osean Federation — November 27, 2019
“Jack! On the news! Turn the TV on!”
Bartlett’s aide quickly reached for the remote and swapped the channel to the news, where the Osean Broadcasting Corporation had switched to a live broadcast from the MNN branch in Eshirant. The President’s eyes shone in recognition as the Parpaldian Head of the Foreign Affairs Auditing Office herself spoke before the entirety of Elysia.
“—the direct and unprovoked assault of the Osean navy on our vessels cannot be forgiven! Our entreaties and requests have been ignored and our presence rebuffed from the halls of the so-called Assembly of Nations, yet they still require us to adhere to their laws like an overlord demands his underlings—they do not realise their place as subordinates to us! Mere association with the superpowers of Elysia have brought upon a grand delusion in their heads of becoming our equals, when our ships and armies have already begun preparations to prove them wrong! But we are not crude and violent people, provoked to attack by sheer instinct whenever wounded by an inferior foe; we wish to make a final entreaty to the people of the Osean Federation, for them to judge our actions for themselves.”
The projection widened, revealing Harling calmly seated beside Lady Remille, a pair of burly Parpaldian guards standing menacingly behind him. From Bartlett’s periphery, his secretary gasped in shock—
“As a proper response to the illegal attack on our fellow Parpaldians, we have declared the standard diplomatic protocols between our two nations null and void and brought Ambassador Vincent Harling into our custody; Emperor Ludius, as a display of our mercy and compassion, has stayed his execution in the hopes that his superiors may finally see the errors of their ways. Our demands to the government of the Osean Federation, in return for the safe return of Ambassador Harling, are clear and simple: return our men to Eshirant and withdraw from the Kingdom of Altaras, deliver economic reparations to be determined by the Emperor’s representatives as compensation for the damages and lives lost by their brutal attack in Altaras, and hand over full control of the International United Nations to the Parpaldian Empire as the rightful harbinger of order and civilization in this region of Elysia.
“We await the response of the Oseans, in the hope that they see reason and acknowledge our mighty empire as the glorious, divine, and sublime nation that it truly is, or else suffer the consequences of total war against us—”
The screen cracked and shattered, cutting short Lady Remille’s transmission as the television caved inward—furiously glaring at the remote, now embedded onto the destroyed appliance where the woman’s projection had been permanently silenced, the President whirled towards the horrified aide.
“Damn, damn Elysians, their noses stuck so far up their asses that they can’t even smell anything else but crap! Get me Edwards and every member of the Chiefs of Staff in my office, right now!”