The Blue wings reached the shallows of Male with determined swiftness, the rhythmic clanging of alarm bells reaching her ears as they neared the city. Below, the smoke from dozens of fires of Ray’s saboteurs, filled streets and docks at the orders of the wind.
Ivy and her squadron halted the descent as they reached the fortress line of fire. No shot would find its mark. Behind them, Marie’s ships had already deployed their forces into rowboats, small dots gliding across the western shoals, aided by the high tide and the powerful strokes of battered fighters. The timing was perfect, the sea itself favouring their assault. To her right, the Tampra navy stirred restlessly. A few ships were preparing their sails, making tentative manoeuvres, but none dared to leave the safety of their bays. Not when even the less experienced of them knew the winds favour the massive navy reaching the entry point at a great wind advantage.
As the different squadrons of winged rangers passed the last city buildings and entered the rocky shallows connecting to the Fortress, the first whistles of shotguns were heard. On the slithering stone route connecting the city and its main defence, a few uniformed soldiers alternated between running and desperate shots upwards. They were leaving the fortress in a desperate attempt to eradicate the chaos unleashed in the streets. Good news for the forces preparing to assault them.
With a sharp, commanding gesture, Ivy led the deltas in a sweeping arc toward the stronghold. The fortress, likely half-empty, still had enough man's power to fill its flat top of soldiers, all prepared to open fire. In perfect unison, the deltas descended, releasing a handful of grenades and fire-bombs over them. Blasts and fire unleash over the rooftop screams of pain and terror. Very little of the defenders remained to oppose the descending threat and the ones that did never shot.
Adam’s ship, in the navy's vanguard, turned toward the channels, and soon found itself in a dangerous, lethal firing position. From the hundreds of openings punctuating the stonework of the massive conical keep, tremendous bursts of fire filled the south-east face with white smoke, a fog quickly joining the black smoke that engulfed the southern port. Uncountable columns of water raised at the front of Adan’s vessel, not yet close enough to hit sails or wood. But the next one would and Ivy knew well it was time for haste.
Pressed by what seemed like a tiny delay that could cost them dearly, she moved her machine into a dive that the rest around imitated perfectly.
The deltas reached the sky above the formidable structure dominating the skyline of the coral straight. They moved in tight, disciplined circles,aiming for a bullseye in a smoky courtyard where there was little fire left after scorching everything that stood in their way. Or so they thought.
A new string of reds and greens appeared in a rush. Muskets and portable swivel guns aiming upwards, firing without need of orders. Bullets pierced wings while grenades answered. No fire would be used anymore in close reach. Only grenades. Enough to unleash a second round of despair below.
The Tampra soldiers’ initial determination crumbled as the devastation mounted. The desperate but yet, well-organized defence devolved into chaos, and soon, despair took hold.
Unable to maintain their position under a type of warfare they were not used to, the defenders retreated, pulling back from the exposed positions into the access hatches. Ivy knew their initial resolve was broken. That they were overwhelmed by a flying enemy impossible to defeat. But she also knew they’d not surrender, just feigned retreat. The Blue Kingdom’s advantage would be over when they reached the ground, and the enemies knew the detail as well as she did.
With the rooftop defences neutralised, the deltas began their landings in a tight, synchronised manner. No delta-wing, but Ivy’s was meant to be used afterwards. So when a ranger landed, he was fast to join forces with the next, and the next. All putting their efforts in throwing aside their machines and making space for those who had not yet landed. Ivy, who had set foot first, was waiting for his first wave of men with swords in hand. At his side, rangers armed to the teeth with pistols and short swords soon joined him. With a raise of his sabre, war cries erupted, and the crowd rushed into the bowels of the boulder-drenched beast. Before any of them could actually reach, access doors burst open, and a surge of Tampra soldiers charged out, their battle cries as loud as the Blues’. Shots rang out, swords clashed, and the air filled with the sounds of despair, fear, and pain.
Ivy unsheathed her sword and stepped forward, meeting the first wave of attackers head-on, ignoring the sting of an air impregnated with the aroma of gunpowder and the stench of sweat and blood. The smoke curled around her, veiling her movements in shadow as she engaged the first man. As her first victim felt, others came at her from within the increasing dogs. Animals entering, without knowing, into a slaughterhouse hidden in the smoke. Her confidence grew with each exchange, but she remained focused, refusing to let her guard down for even a moment. Aware of the danger lurking ahead. If something minor went wrong in her assault group, she would be the first to be shot.
Each group comprised two members with edged weapons who were in charge of close combat, two with firearms, who protected them from other enemy fire, and in the back, a reloader and a carrier. If a reloader delayed, a shot came late, she’d be dead. No matter how good and precise her sword was. A reminder came when Kar, her blade partner, fell dead after a flash from the fog ahead. Dillan shot towards a blind shot. Dillan returned a blind shot that, after a few steps forward, turned out to have been successful. Ivy stepped over Kar’s killer, now as dead as he was, and raised her hand. An order to throw grenades through the hatch.
After a loud explosion, the rangers entered the stairs in silence. Ivy readied herself to follow when a firm hand caught her arm, halting her mid-step. She turned to see one of her rangers, his face grim as he handed her the semaphoring light. The weight of responsibility settled heavily on her shoulders. She yearned to continue the fight, the thrill of combat still coursing through her veins, but she knew her duty lay away from where her heart wanted to be. Command was her burden, and in this moment, her role as a leader took precedence over the warrior within her.
Reluctantly, she grabbed the light and strode towards the roof’s parapet. Adan and AhLong awaited her signal. Inside, the fortress assault was intensifying, driving deeper into the stronghold, but the battle was far from over. The lower levels had not stopped firing, and Adan’s fleet was receiving strong damage. She clicked the light, each flash carrying her message through the smoke and haze.
Her signal conveyed that the assault on the fortress was progressing. The fight was now entrenched in the very bowels of the stronghold. Adan had to risk everything and sail ahead. No matter how much destruction would be unleashed against them until the rangers captured each one of the gunned floors. The cries and shots in the distance reached from the west side. Prof enough Tampra was caught from two sides. AhLong had taken the city fort and Ray’s men were pushing through the fortress access.
Though victory was not yet assured, with forces pushing from above and below, Tampra numbers were still formidable.
As the last lights of her message flickered into the distance, Ivy’s eyes narrowed with determination. She knew the importance of every move they made now. The fortress might not have fallen yet, but the first floors from the top had spat fire, not against Adan’s incoming ships, but to the ones waiting in the ports.
With the Tampra admirals overwhelmed by the unexpected friendly fire, Ivy pressed on, her sword cutting through the smoke and chaos, a relentless force against the waiting tide of enemies in the floors below. With her breath regained and the thrill of battle surging through her veins, she charged through the first door. The scene two levels down was chaos incarnate. Her men and the Parni army were locked in a brutal melee, clashing with the defenders on the narrow staircase. The air was thick with the clank of iron against iron, the deafening cracks of gunfire, and the agonising screams of the wounded. The acrid stench of death grounding her in the grim reality of the fight.
As she moved forward, her eyes fell on a man crawling across the blood-slicked floor, his fingers desperately reaching for his fallen sword. Without hesitation, she delivered a swift kick, sending the weapon skittering out of his reach. One of her men followed up with a quick, merciless stab. Ivy’s gaze lingered on the man’s face for a moment longer than she intended. He was just a boy, not much older than she was, his life ending before it had truly begun. A wave of pettiness and regret washed over her, clenching her jaw as she tried to push the emotion aside.
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A heavy slap on her back jolted her from her thoughts. Oleg grinned at her through the blood and grime that smeared his face. He pushed past her, charging ahead into the fray as a full squadron of rangers roared down the stairs, reinforcing their new floor.
They descended the curving staircase; the stone steps spiralling downward along the round inner walls of the fortress. The air grew cooler and more oppressive with each step, the thick stone muffling the sounds of battle below. At the end, they emerged into a vast, wide room, its purpose immediately clear from the stacks of cannonballs piled high in neat, foreboding bulks. Around the room, crates and boxes scattered, their contents hidden in the shadows.
The storeroom opened into an outer corridor that ran along the perimeter of the fortress. Here, the cannons were positioned, their massive barrels jutting out through the gun-ports that lined the walls. Each cannon was a monstrous piece of artillery, expertly maintained and deadly in its potential. The iron behemoths rested on sturdy wooden carriages, which were secured to the walls with thick chains and ropes to absorb the recoil of their devastating blasts.
The corridor was shrouded in darkness, the only light filtering in through the narrow openings where the cannons peered out toward the sea. No torches burned here, a precaution against the ever-present threat of igniting the powder stores and turning the entire fortress into a fiery tomb.
Oleg’s voice rang out in the near silence, cutting through the tension with sharp commands to take control of the fire power as fast as feet and hand could move.
The next floor fell quickly to their advance, and the next followed with only slightly more resistance. Below, still few cannons fired against the ships attacking from sea. The momentum of their assault slowed as the defenders, though disorganised, grew increasingly desperate. Piled in the few remaining floors, the lack of space to move and the lack of man to defend had put a halt in the gunners’ work. Yet, their neglect of artillery hinted at a readiness to confront raiders. The air was thick with tension. Men piled in the cannon’s corridors and rangers lurking on the stairs, both aware of the imminent engagement. The whistling breezes brought through the hatches smoke from the battles outside the premise, creating a fog effect that would not help either side.
Swallowed by the mass pushing forward, Ivy had little to say on where to charge or how. Only well into the gallery and already surrounded by bangs and clangs, she found enough space to decide her own fate. It didn’t take long to prove her footwork was up to the task. The first soldier, a brute wielding a club and dagger, took three stabs to be neutralised. The next, a boy completely opposite but with the same courage, only took one cut.
As Ivy’s side pressed and another set of teams took down the next stairs, Ivy’s The feeling of danger gnawed at her stomach as she watched the Parni soldiers disappear into the mist. She crouched, as did those beside her, lifting the soles of their feet from the ground only when a body was on their way.
It was when, past one of the bigger canyons. a flicker of movement caught her eye. a Parni soldier, pretending dead at the side of the cannon’s structure, suddenly lifted a pistol from the ground. The barrel levelled at her, the stony gaze of the soldier behind it locking onto her with deadly intent. The world seemed to slow. And just as slowly, she saw how Oleg rushed to cover her, without fear or regret. And just as slowly, she watched as Oleg lunged to cover her, fearless and without regret. As his arm reached to push her aside, Ivy’s hand grabbed his shirt and yanked hard, bringing him to the ground next to her.
The soldier’s pistol spat fire, sending a lead bullet exploding against the wall. Seeing his trick discovered and failed, the soldier raised his palms, seeking a friendly smile that would bring compassion to his enemies. Neither of the two rangers who approached him with a dagger in hand, took the bait. The soldier, realising he’d receive no forgiveness, tried to get up while shaking a hidden dagger. He did not get up and died in the same corner where he had pretended moments before.
Laying at her side, Oleg gasped, his eyes wide with shock, his hand instinctively reaching for the wound he’d believed to receive. His lips moved, searching for words of gratitude he’d never let out. Ivy stood and grasped his hand to pull up. Then, with a brief grin and a shoulder tap, He let him know that there was no need.
The world turned into a dizzying carousel of fear and relief. Ivy’s breath caught in her throat, a ragged gasp escaping as she clung to the fragile reality of survival. The dry tang of powder filled her nostrils, a stark reminder of the razor’s edge she’d danced on. A hundred of terrible scenarios, each more gruesome than the last, played out in her mind. Had she been a moment slower? Had Oleg not foreseen the treacherous attack she’d missed? Would Oleg’s sacrifice weighed on her as many others had before? The thought of him, her stalwart friend, falling for her, sent a wave of nausea from stomach to throat.
A tide of steel and muscle forced her to move forward, men pressing against each other in a desperate, heaving mass. The crowd, tense and packed, prepared for a new and final push. Her sabre felt cumbersome in the cramped space. She knew there would be no room for its graceful arcs, no chance for the fluid dance of combat she had learned for years. With a swift, practised motion, she upholstered her side dagger, and with a simple, disdainful movement, she dropped her sword to the ground.
A battle cry echoed through the smoke-choked arcade, a challenge answered with a furious roar from the other side. Weapons flashed with light barely reaching from the hatches. Ivy, caught in the maelstrom and unable to move by her own, felt the raw, primal energy pulsing with the surrounding men. Almost like a wave, men rushed without thinking if destination meant kill or die. The floor itself seemed to crack with the violent crash, almost announcing its breakage, warning all sinners above the fall would be straight to the Hells.
She pressed towards the compressed wall of enemies, dagger motioning back and forth between lumps of flesh and bone. Each swing was a desperate gamble, a blind stab to avoid a retaliation from the other side. The piling, claustrophobic mass of bodies pressed against her, breathes and gasps a proof of exertion and panic. Guttural cries of grabs and struggles to silence the few clashes of metal and gunshots. A symphony of chaos, a maddening song overwhelming her senses. Em always said battles were shorter than in the stories. Yet, here she was, trapped in one which, although short as well, felt endless.
Her limbs trembled, muscles burning in protest. Breath turned soon into ragged gasps, yet she pressed on, driven by the sight of the enemy’s weakening resolve. The dagger in her hand, soaked in blood, slowed its relentless killing. With each fallen foe, she found more moments of respite; to catch her breath and steady her shaking hands.
The clamour of battle faded, replaced by the rhythmic thump of heartbeats in her ears and hissing gasps through her teeth. Beneath her boots the floor turned into a sticky puddle and the air entering her lungs a blend of odours impossible to breathe.
Victory was in reach. But the price had been high. Ivy felt a wave of sorrow, a bitter reminder of the lives lost. The weight of each sacrifice, each life cut short, pressing down on her. But she also felt something else, something she had not felt in a long time. Pride. Pride in her comrades, in their courage, their resilience.
A string of bells bursting from all sides announced surrender. The few remaining parni threw their weapons to the ground and fell to their knees. Upon seeing the enemy defeated, the Blue rangers still found the strength to let out cries of victory. But the celebration lasted a little. As few rushed to subdue prisoners, others moved at the same speed as the cannons. The fortress had fallen, but the battle was not over.
Ivy and Oleg rushed back to the roof. Outside in the bay, Tampra’s crowded fleet, unable to manoeuvre much, was receiving tremendous damage from the fortress. Adan’s ships, as soon as they entered, joined the massacre. Ivy turned the spyglass to the other side of the floating city. In the northern bay, the few vessels Tampraparni had left had already set sail and fled. In the middle of the burning city, the military outpost and barracks raised blue flags, announcing the last enemy strongholds had also fallen.
Oleg took the light and immediately gave orders. When he finished, and only when one ranger patted him on the shoulder in a friendly manner, a small smile of satisfaction appeared on his face. Ivy joined in with a slight tug at her lips. Victory was finally there, and yet Ivy could not ease her strain or calm her belligerence.
Indeed, she rejoiced at the victory, but the enveloping satisfaction of the moment was something more personal. Oleg, who had been the voice of the assault, a man who had fought his own demons and put the souls of the Blue Kingdom on his shoulders, had won on both counts. A ranger who had unhesitatingly laid down his life to save her without hesitation, and a friend whom she had put out of a killer’s bullet just as quickly as he had done to her. There was no denial that saving a life, especially his, was of glorious reward. But the feeling of lingering deeper was different. For the first time, no one had to sacrifice themselves for her. For too long, her weakness had cost the life of many. Lost lives of much greater worth than hers. And even though it could happen again, such a small step felt better than any war, battle, or fight ever won.