>At a SeaWing enclave, on the outskirts of the Kingdom of the Sea._

Cuttlefish was bored.

Really bored.

Despite all the excitement the last few days held, and the near-nonstop questions and wild speculations bouncing around his head, the most prominent emotion he currently felt was that of boredom.

It made sense, though. That he would be bored, given his current circumstance. Even the most excitable, or easy-going dragonet would be bored if he had been confined to his sleeping cave for the past day or so.

He and his friends had been grounded after what had happened yesterday. Mako and her procession to the Summer Palace had returned just in time to see the giant underwater-scavenger-boat-thing looming over their enclave, with a talonful of dragons swimming and floating nearby. Clam, Oyster and Cuttlefish in the center of the formation, next to the boat-thing itself.

Mako had never seen the underwater-boat-thing for herself, only having heard of its existence from the dragonets during their recounting of their first contact with them.

She had seen the hulking boat-thing, the dragonets next to it, and (correctly) assumed that the dragonets had somehow led it to the enclave. After all, how else could it have picked out this one specific location from the entire ocean that even some SeaWings had difficulty finding? Especially since, when last she heard and saw, the boat things were all gathered around the seaside scavenger den?

Needless to say, she was thoroughly livid.

After literally yanking Cuttlefish underwater to interrogate him, she ‘recommended’ to his and the sibling’s parents to confine them to their respective sleeping caves until further notice. Mako’s wrath was tempered somewhat when Cuttlefish promised to drive off the giant boat-thing, and then did.

She was still mad, though, and they were still very grounded.

He was grateful for his friends being there for him at that moment, though. They had come to his defense while Mako was berating him, although the effectiveness of said defense was questionable at best.

He could vividly recall one exchange in particular:

[“WHICH PART OF YOU THOUGHT IT WAS GOOD IDEA TO BRING THIS- THIS HUGE THING TO OUR HOME!? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?”] Mako had signal-shouted with a glaring intensity that was almost blinding to Cuttlefish’s light-sensitive, night-vision capable eyes.

To which Clam responded: [“Hey! It’s not that huge! It’s only like… three times as long as a whale?”]

Despite Cuttlefish’s current dull discomfort, and his offense at being grounded by his irate teacher through his mother, he admitted that he could- …understand why he was here, to an extent.

Mako had seen with her own eyes what the scavenger-boats near the scavenger den could do to dragons. He and the siblings were there, but they didn’t directly see the gory sight she later described. Cuttlefish knew Mako was tough and harsh, even by dragon standards. Rumors and stories about what she did, or was, before moving to their enclave were always hushed whenever dragonets were nearby. She herself certainly never talked about her past. But what she saw above the den, Cuttlefish thought got to her more that she let on, or even necessarily knew herself.

And even though his assumption that no harm would come of leading that particular boat-thing to their enclave where they could have easy access to their scrolls had proven right. He would admit that leading a strange thing that he knew to be potentially dangerous to his home was probably… certainly, a lapse in judgment on his part.

That didn’t mean that he wasn’t still bored and unhappy about it, though.

Cuttlefish scraped his claws against the empty cave’s floor for the 267th time this afternoon and sighed. An entirely melodramatic gesture when you were underwater, where there was no air to exhale. He had already spent all the air left in his lungs long ago blowing bubbles in an attempt to amuse himself. He tried to focus on the more positive aspects of what had happened yesterday.

Or perhaps it would be more apt to describe them as the more wild and unbelievable aspects of what happened yesterday.

Such as hearing a scavenger standing atop a floating metal contraption beyond his comprehension saying his own name back at him.

When he had proposed scrawling pictures of the molluscs and cephalopod he and his friends were named after onto a scroll and attempting to teach the scavengers he had seen atop the boat-thing their names, he had done so mostly as a joke. A ‘why not?’ type of thing. He never thought it would go anywhere! Out of all the crazy things that had happened, that was easily the biggest standout.

He didn’t think he would ever forget the sound of the pale, yellow-furred scavenger with eyes like the ocean around them enunciating “Cuttlefish” with a strange, high-pitched and accented continence, after chattering extensively with other similarly scavengers in a harsh barking throaty way that was absolutely nothing like what the scrolls, and other enclave dwellers he had talked to, said scavengers were supposed to sound like.

If he really thought about it, there was probably a lot about that entire interaction that was probably mind-blowingly crazy, and nothing like what the scrolls said scavengers were like. The fact that he was even able to get the scavengers to follow them back to the enclave only through talon gestures was already beyond what the scrolls said they were capable of. Much less the exchange of light flashes they had, and how he was able to get the scavenger to go away again by pointing out where the rest of the boat-things were on a map and verbally telling them to go on their way. Those were all examples of communication, of information being exchanged and instructions being given.

Even if neither side really knew what the other was saying, or if the other side had understood what they wanted them to do.

Cuttlefish recalled the expressions on the scavenger’s faces, and the way they just stared. Stared with clear focus and what looked to him like contemplative curiosity at the various scrolls of maps, dragon and even scavenger diagrams they had shown them while they were still here.

Once again, he wasn’t fully sure why he thought showing a bunch of scavengers their scrolls would get a reaction out of them, but he did anyway. And the scavengers did react.

The scavenger guide scroll certainly did not mention any of this about scavengers. Is there more to them than we know? Was the scroll we have wrong? Did the writer of that scroll just forget to mention that scavengers, at least some of them, can build huge metal boat-things, communicate using barking sounds and throaty vocalizations that sound eerily similar to dragon speak rather than squeaks and chirps, and pay close attention to scrolls when showed to them as if they were trying to read it?

And can mimic dragon language?

Cuttlefish had no idea. That scroll they read said that it was the definitive guide on everything one would need to know about scavengers, but it was possible that other “definitive” guides existed out there. Perhaps they would have more to say.

The other enclave dwellers certainly didn’t seem to. He and his friends had asked around some after returning from the den with Mako to get any information they could on scavengers, and of course had a few scavenger-related stories told to them over the few years they had been alive by dragons who were away from the enclave more often than others. Nobody seemed to have knowledge that went beyond, or deviated from what they had read in the definitive guide.

That was probably to be expected, though. Scavengers were irrelevant even to Seawings that lived next to the continental shore, much less those that lived in the middle of the ocean as they did.

Right now, Cuttlefish wished that he wasn’t confined to a cave with almost nothing in it. He specifically wished for a blank scroll and some ink, so that he could write down some of the things he observed about the scavengers on the boat-thing. Maybe he could write his own article, and get it published as an addition to Everything you need to know about scavengers!

At least, he thought that everyone should know about scavengers that can build huge boats of metal, mimic dragon speech, and probably have strange weapons that can literally rip apart dragons mid-flight.

Cuttlefish was broken from his tide of thought by a large shadow passing into the cave that he recognized instantly. Dolphin, his mother. She carried several scrolls and other things and looked unhappy, but not necessarily at him.

[“Hello, mother…”] He greeted tentatively.

[“You can leave the cave, if you wish.”] She flashed back unceremoniously. [“But– You are not to leave the enclave. You’re still grounded, but you can do things around here. I would recommend avoiding Mako for the time being, however.”]

Cuttlefish ‘jumped’ up, rejuvenated by her allowing him to at least depart their sleeping cave. He usually spent a lot of time swimming around outside the enclave, exploring. So not being able to leave still sunk, but right now he didn’t care. Any freedom was better than none at all.

He thanked her as he swam past, but she didn’t respond. He slowed to a stop as he reached the cave’s mouth, and turned back. His mother was acting down. More so than usual, anyway. He felt he should try to do something.

[“Mother…? Is something wrong? Did something happen?”]

She paused what she was doing as she caught his signal flashes from the corner of her eye, and her wings seemed to slump downwards. She said nothing for a couple moments, probably thinking about what to say.

[“...I asked Mako if she had been told anything about father when she was at the Summer Palace. Thank you for asking her to do that, by the way. She said that the commander dragons there ‘Didn’t know anything about his current state.’ It’s better than being told that he was… missing, and Mako said that it didn’t seem like they really had no idea where or how he was… but rather more like they just didn’t bother to get his current whereabouts when she asked. Even then, it’s still… errrrrrgh.”]

Her speech was cut off by a tired growl, some small bubbles rose from her snout and her luminescent scales rapidly strobed in a manner that mirrored the inaudible sound. Her flashes were slow and dim, her motions lethargic. Many dragons in her circumstance would speed up out of nervousness or anxiety, and become hyperactive. His mother, however, slowed down and became demotivated, almost as if she were too cold, and her body was slowing down.

After hearing that news, though, Cuttlefish felt a lot less eager to go out and meet his friends and go find some scrolls.

[“Are… Are you sure she’s telling the truth?”] He asked, feeling a little bad to be asking such a thing of his irritable tutor. Mako was abrasive, and could be a little rude and even condescending at times, but he had never known her to be dishonest.

His mother shook her head. [“Yes. Mako’s an honest dragon, perhaps partially because she’s an absolutely terrible liar, and gave up on trying years ago. I don’t know much about army stuff and habits, but I know she does. If she thinks the non-answer she received just meant they were too lazy to go and check rather than being afraid to give bad news, I’m inclined to trust her.”]

Cuttlefish accepted the answer and decided against inquiring further. Once again, he knew next to nothing about what Mako’s life was like before moving to the enclave, so he didn’t really have any additional information to give or go off of.

[“I hope father’s safe.”] Was all he said.

[“...I hope so, too.”] His mother responded in kind. [“Now, go find your friends. They should also have been allowed by their parents to wander about the enclave, but absolutely none of you are to leave after that stunt you pulled. I still have no idea why you thought to bring that thing here… Nevermind. Go find your friends, talk about what you learned and all that, but you would do well to avoid Mako if you can. She is still in a rather foul mood, and probably won’t take kindly to seeing you three swimming about.”]

Cuttlefish dipped his head in acknowledgement, and made off without saying anything else. Doing nothing but worrying himself wouldn’t be what his father would’ve– WOULD want him to do, and he still wanted to write down what he discovered with the scavengers on the boat.

***

>Somewhere in the Kingdom of the Sea, Approaching a scavenger den._

Out of all the jobs that could be given to a patroller, investigating reports of a suddenly and inexplicably lethal scavenger den certainly wasn’t the worst. Probably not even the strangest.

It helped that, usually, SeaWing coastal patrolling was one of the most dangerous jobs that could be given to a SeaWing soldier. Being a coastal patroller meant that you had to fly close to or over land, where one could be easily ambushed by terrestrial fire-breathing dragons, while of course deliberately looking for those ambushes so that you can take note of their locations. Which was actually secondary to their primary task of making sure that groups of enemy dragons encroaching into their territory weren't getting too close to the Summer Palace, lest they manage to find and attack it.

Loss rates for territory patrollers were higher than for front-talon soldiers, despite technically being a rear-talon position. It was a dangerous job, but one that had to be done.

Perhaps that last point would be more consoling, however, if it weren't usually such a boring job as well. One might at first think that being in near-constant relative peril while flying through the sky looking for foes would be exciting, in reality it was the opposite. Most days went by with nothing happening. Leading to a mind-numbing monotony broken by the terror of being jumped by angry fire-breathing dragons that were already waiting for you. The combination of boredom and fear led to a kind of constant slow paranoia in most SeaWings that gradually dulls the senses.

Argonaut had been a coastal patroller for only a couple of months, which, as far as it went, was a rather long time to last in his occupation. That is, at least since Commander Tempest’s death and their armies' subsequent rout from the mainland. He was one of the longest serving patrollers there was, and had recently been promoted to Wing Leader of a Wing of a few other patrollers.

Coastal patrollers had become a lot more decentralized in their command structure since the rout, due to the high casualty rates and adaptive/reactive nature of their job. Wing leaders had a lot more autonomy to operate under their own directive in a given scenario than other limbs of the general army, or indeed other parts of other dragon armies, could. What each patrol flight did was largely up to their own Wing leader, so long as they flew their general patrol routes and were on time.

The downside to that freedom was less direct attention from the Commanders and the Queen, so they had less resources, less organization than usual, and a longer response time from oher limbs of the army in case anything went wrong.

His own Wing was small, only five dragons not counting him, and made up of SeaWings that had also been patrollers for a good while themselves, but none for as long as him. They were all good at their jobs, and trusted him to do his.

Normally, their usual patrol pattern would take them along the part of the Bay of a Thousand Scales that bordered the Sky Kingdom, along the southern shore of the massive wing-shaped peninsula. Their current mission, however, was far from their normal patrol route.

[“Nearly there, SeaWings.”] He broke the quiet stillness between them.

On a normal patrol, they would have been flying through the air, not swimming. But this was an investigation that was meant to be covert, not a standard patrol.

They were getting close to their destination. It was a little difficult to determine distances underwater, at least in relation to things on the surface, but Argonaut had a good sense of direction, and could gauge distance traveled more easily than most other SeaWings. One of the reasons he was a Wing leader.

The others acknowledged him by flicking their tails, not saying anything themselves. There was little practical reason they couldn't just talk as they wished while they traveled, as once again they were underwater, but it paid to stay completely alert when you were on patrol, as they and many other dragons had learned from experience.

Argonaut appreciated that they need not fly for this mission. Being underwater meant that they weren’t vulnerable to ambush by their fire-breathing enemies. They need only investigate their quarry from below the waves for this mission. In fact, they had been specifically advised against flying above the area they were to scout, due to potential danger. Well, more danger than was usual.

It rather made him wish that all their coastal patrols could be conducted underwater, but it wasn’t as though one could view what was above the water very well without breaking the water’s surface themselves.

That of course begged the question as to what it was that they were supposed to be investigating, given that they weren’t supposed to surface at all. He knew that it had to do with a scavenger den, which was weird. If they were supposed to just get a good look at a scavenger den, why wouldn’t they ought to fly over it to see all of it, or at least poke their heads above water to get a look from there?

He had been given a brief explanation by a superior, telling him that: “Something dangerous had been reported by some enclave dwellers at the scavenger den marked on the map we showed you earlier. Whatever in the three moons it is, they said it was on the water, so you'll be able to see it from underwater. If it’s there, or even if it exists. All you have to do is just see if there’s actually anything there, then come back.”

The closest enclave to the den he was shown was his own home, which frustrated him to no end. He could have met the fellow dwellers while they were at the Palace! He’d been gone for so long, catching up would have been nice. He really wanted to know how his Dolphin and little Cuttlefish were doing. Though, if he thought about it, Cuttlefish probably wouldn't be so little anymore. That thought made his chest twist, so he didn't think about it. It was really difficult to get letters all the way from the Summer Palace to their enclave, which was a little confusing given the Queen’s apparent aptitude and appreciation for scrolls and written documents.

Whatever. There wasn’t anything that he could do about it now, and trying to take a ‘detour’ on the return trip was a bad idea, as their Commanders would know that they’d been gone for longer than they should have been. He would just follow orders and do his job until that job was finished, as he always had since being drafted.

It was hardly a half-hour later that Argonaut knew they should be on their final approach, and they came into sight of something… unexpected. Or perhaps it was to be expected in this particular case, but it was certainly unprecedented. As the seafloor began to gradually slope upwards towards the shore, a large shadow loomed on the water’s surface before they came into sight of land itself. The six dragons stopped and exchanged glances.

Is this what we are meant to find?

Argonaut dimly flashed that this was where they were meant to be, and they continued forward.

As they got closer, more and more shadows came into view. There were a lot of them. They all floated ominously on the water’s surface. All of them were huge, even the smallest ones being easily more than twice, perhaps even thrice, the size of a blue whale. The majority of them were far larger than even those.

Moons above… He thought to himself.

Most of the mysterious shapes were unmoving, many of them even had lines running from them to the seafloor. The patrol wing swam closer, they had been told that these things, whatever they were, only appeared dangerous to flying dragons, so they should be fine so long as they stayed underwater. A few of them, the smaller ones- it seemed- did not have said lines and some appeared to be slowly moving about.

They flicked their tails and gave large thrusts with their wings, propelling them forward and sending small clouds of bubbles up to the surface.

They moved under the formation, and swam up to one of the lines.

[“It looks like a chain.”] Someone flashed.

[“It’s clearly a chain.”] Another quipped.

[“The question is, who made it? And why? What is this thing doing chained to the seafloor?”] Argonaut interjected, looking up to the shape before pointing towards the shore. [“That’s a scavenger den over there. Do scavengers have to do with any of this?”]

[“I heard that these things somehow killed a bunch of NightWings, who were hunting the den or something. So maybe.”]

[“Scavengers aren't capable of this, whatever this is!”]

Inwardly, Argonaut agreed. But if scavengers didn’t build these things, then who did? Which dragon kingdom would be capable of making these things? The SkyWings and SandWings both avoided the sea whenever possible, and the MudWings and RainWings absolutely weren't capable of engineering something like this. The IceWings also never left their territory except to go on raids, and they couldn’t work with metal, either. The only other possible contender were the NightWings, who were certainly mysterious enough that they could theoretically make something like these, but these things had been specifically reported to have killed NightWings. Not to mention, things like these would have taken decades, if not centuries, of development and construction. There was no way that the NightWings, or anyone else, would have been able to just suddenly build them without anyone else finding out about it before-talon.

They moved on the shape they were investigating, and Argonaut had them break up to look at different sections of the larger formation. There were so many of them that, even with them split up, it would take a while for them to get a close look at all of them.

But they didn’t need a close look at all of them. A cursory glance-over and number count would do for now.

After about two minutes, they reconvened at the outer extent of the group. The pair that had investigated the shapes nearest to the shore had gazes that looked… Distant.

[“These things are weird.”]

[“I counted 7 over there.”] One said with a wing wave in one direction

[“8 over there.”] Another wing wave

[“10 near here.”]

[“We counted 15 closer to land, more in the middle of the cluster.]

[“There are 4 more tied to these weird wooden structures that attached to the shore… but there’s something else you should see, Argonaut.”]

He raised his brows, but said nothing as he let the SeaWings in question lead him to a specific spot close to the shoreline, keeping well under the strange looming shapes as they went. His other Wingmates followed closely behind, with similar due caution.

The two dragons stopped, and one pointed a claw just ahead and gave Argonaut a look, but went no further. The Wing Leader shrugged, and continued onward. He could now just make out a strange shape - or rather a group of shapes - scattered about on the seafloor. He couldn’t tell what they were.

He approached the largest of the shadowy blobs, covering his snout with a webbed talon and convulsing with bile rising in his throat and ice shooting through his spine when he realized what it was. A corpse. Or rather, what was left of a corpse. As a coastal patroller, Argonaut had seen several examples of dragons that had fallen into the water and perished, with their bodies left to slowly rot and be picked apart by fish. The sight of death was not new to him. This however… was something else entirely.

Rather than having a slit throat, broken neck or spine, or impaled chest, which were the most common causes of death in dragon-on-dragon combat, This dragon had been eviscerated.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Mangled scales lay strewn about the area around, intermixed with strips of flesh and fragments of shattered bone from the gore’s epicenter, which itself was most of a dragon’s torso. Scales, muscles, sinew and bits of organs that had been blended into an indistinguishable mess clung to the mass, drifting and swaying slightly with the gentle tidal current. Blood had appeared to have long drained from the body, leaving most of the flesh a ghostly pale color, though small red clouds emerged from certain orifices.

What ribs were left that hadn’t been shattered like seashells undertalon were twisted and bent, emerging from the mass at horrible angles. Only two apparently limbs were still attached, most of the left hind leg and half of the tail, both shredded almost beyond recognition. What sections of the corpse that still had scales covering it had been thoroughly perforated by small holes, to the point that there was no one section of the body that still looked like it was part of a dragon.

Looking around numbly, he was able to make out smaller shapes that might have been this dragon’s missing limbs. Might have. The closest of the shapes actually appeared to be the dragon’s head and neck, which were still attached to each other. The head was facing him, towards the rest of the body and the neck facing away. The lower jaw and right horn was missing and a giant chunk had been torn from the skull where one eye used to be, with bone and brain matter leaking out. A small fish swam out of the other eye socket. Even with all the damage, it was recognizably the head of a NightWing.

What in the Great Currents, Three Moons, or Watchers is capable of this!?

He had never even conceived of, much less seen, dragons that died in a manner as brutal as this. Not even stories from Queen Scarlet’s arena, or of what Burn did to her prisoners of war came anywhere close to this level of viscera.

No dragon’s talons were capable of this kind of damage. To cut through all those scales and to break the bones apart like that with one’s claws or teeth would take a long time, and a lot of brutality. Whatever happened to this dragon, it clearly happened fast. It wouldn’t be so mangled, otherwise.

This dragon looked like the corpse of a prey animal that had been chewed up and spat back out by a dragon.

He found himself feeling really bad for whatever dragons had seen what had been inflicted upon this dragon as it happened. He already knew that he was going to be seeing the aftermath in his dreams for a long time.

A bright flash brought him up out of the horrified thought whirlpool he was spiraling into. His wingmates had followed behind him after waiting a few moments, and had just come into sight of the mess he had witnessed. Most covered their snouts with their talons and averted their eyes, while another just puked.

[“What… What could have done this?”] One asked once she had recovered her bearings enough to do so.

They all, slowly and simultaneously, raised their gazes up to the hulking shadows above them, blocking out the sun. They suddenly appeared a lot more ominous.

[“I think we should leave….”] Someone flashed.

Argonaut couldn’t agree more. He didn’t want to be around these things any longer than need be.

[“Alright, SeaWings,’] he announced, [“We’ve done our job. We should head back to the Summer Palace. Make sure to stay underwater until we are well clear of these things.”]

The other five dragons all swam off with powerful thrusts of their wings, not heading in the exact direction they came, which would take them back to the Summer Palace, but seeming to want to get far away from the hulking shadows as quickly as they could. Argonaut followed after taking another glance over the group of shadow shapes present.

Before he could catch up, however, he felt… something happening in the water around him. He turned around, and saw one of the smaller shapes charging rather quickly towards them.

Before he could freak out, he quickly realized that the shape was not moving directly at him and his Wing, but rather towards the direction they had come from, which was slightly different from the way they were going now. He floated still, somewhat transfixed by the huge shape moving through the water on its own, with no propelling fins or paddles in sight. The something that he felt in the water, he realized, were probably vibrations created by that thing moving. It rather made his head ache.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that his Wing had stopped as well, and one of them was flashing something rather bright at him, presumably calling out to him.

Before he could turn to respond, however, his attention was once again snared by the floating object. It was still moving along its course, but he saw a small splash coming from the rear of the thing, with a single rapidly sinking bubble trail indicating something heavy falling through the water. He was able to see a sort of… cylindrical object… at the bottom of the sinking trail.

Suddenly, quick as a flash, the cylinder became a massive writhing bubble and a brilliant flash of light, and Argonaut’s world, for a split second, became nothing but pressure and noise. He barely registered an awful pain striking through his skull and along his spine, before everything went black.

And then, nothing.

***

>Aboard U-178, near Safe Harbor._

Korvettenkapitan Klaus Witt nearly had a heart attack as he watched a corvette break off from the formation of stationary ships and charge forth through his boat’s periscope.

It turned out that the bunch of water dragons back out at sea had been trying to tell him about something specific when they were directing him to leave. He had steadily followed the bearing pointed out by the dragons, keeping the boat’s speed low after the initial dash to conserve fuel, until the watch officer atop the sail spotted land, and something silhouetted against it. He ordered the boat to submerge to periscope depth for safety, and continued onwards.

Peering through the optical device, he promptly identified the recognizable and distinct outlines of multiple transport ships, and a few smaller escort ships as well.

It was here that Witt once again found himself at an impasse. On one hand, it was sort of the entire point of the ubootwaffe to destroy those ships. And they were enemy combatants. On the other hand, he was not allowed to commence an attack without direct orders to do so. He was also outnumbered to the point where alerting the ships to their presence by launching torpedos would almost certainly be suicide, since there were no other boats around to provide backup. They probably would not even be able to calculate a proper torpedo firing solution, or indeed have the torpedoes stay on course, since their gyroscopes and gyrocompasses still weren't working right.

Not to mention they could possibly be stranded on an completely alien world, and these could be the only other humans around, which meant antagonizing them wasn’t the best of plans.

Either way, it was a fight they weren’t going to win. But did they have to fight it?

Not really sure what else to do, he ordered the helm to carefully close some distance so they could get a better look, being as quiet as possible all the while.

As they approached, Witt was better able to make out more detail about what was happening on the shore the Allied ships were anchored nearby, which in turn only caused his bafflement about where they were to grow. On land, located just above the shore itself, appeared to be a castle. An actual middle-ages looking castle. Klaus had visited one of Germany’s many old castles on a middle school field trip years ago. What he saw on that coast looked very similar, but also much different. Its shape was more reminiscent, he thought, of an air raid bunker or something rather than an actual castle. Although it was clearly constructed with the materials one would normally associate with castle construction. At least that meant that there were probably more people here! Unless the castle had been built by a race of dog-men or something, but that would be weird.

What’s more, he could also make out what looked to be a small town clustered around the fort and towards the sea. It looked like a few Allied ships had docked with small piers built off the town as well. Confirming they had already made contact with whoever, or whatever people that were already here. Though how much help those people would be able to provide was another question.

He could also see various small boats, probably utility craft deployed from the larger ships, moving around from ship to ship or to the shore. Which made him wonder what exactly they were up to.

He ordered a drifting stop once they were a few thousand meters from the nearest vessel, and continued to look. Being this close was extremely risky, and could spell disaster for them should they be detected by their hydrophone systems, or if their periscope was spotted by attentive crewmembers on deck. It was the middle of the day, after all. Submarines like his normally only attacked at night for that reason.

Which was why Klaus almost panicked when he saw one of the escort ships closer to their side of the formation, a single-stack corvette, which had been slowly meandering about, suddenly change course and accelerate hard.

He swore out loud, startling the already on-edge crew in the boat’s control room with him, and was about to order a crash dive as deep as they could go, when he realized the corvette was not coming towards them, but off on an angle almost perpendicular to them.

With the search periscope pointed directly on the corvette, and beads of sweat accumulating on his brow, he saw a small splash occur just off the ship’s stern. Him and the entire crew winced as an immense thud reverberated through the boat’s hull a few seconds later and shook the entire thing. They knew that sound. A massive column of water erupted up from behind the speeding ship, signifying a depth charge attack. A few other escort ships nearby were beginning to maneuver themselves, curious as to what was going on.

“Captain!” His first officer hollered, “Are we under attack!?”

He pulled away from the periscope and refocused his eyes on his crew. The men in the control room were all staring at him with eyes bordering on frantic. They were terrified. He was too. But at the same time… Klaus wasn’t actually sure if they were under attack. He had no idea if that depth charge was meant for them, but wildly off target.

They have to have detected something. If not us, then what? A water dragon?

He steeled himself to keep his voice steady for his crew’s sake. “I don’t know. The ship which dropped that bomb is about 2000 meters away, and not heading for us. I don’t know if they’ve detected us.”

He returned his gaze to the periscope, and quickly reoriented it to once again focus on the corvette, which appeared to be either circling back around to attack again or investigate. Before he could move the periscope to look back to the explosion’s location to get a look for himself, his attention was grabbed by a flashing brightness coming from the corvette. He focused further on the vessel, and his blood turned to ice.

On the corvette’s superstructure, near its smokestack, he could see the origin of the flashing. It was not reflected sunlight, as he suspected, but the ship’s searchlight. And it was pointed right at them. He could see a small cannon just ahead of the superstructure traversing towards them, with several humanoid figures across the ship’s deck that appeared to be pointing right at him.

Oh, God…

Witt swore once again, doing nothing to soothe anyone else’s nerves. “THEY’VE SEEN US!” He blurted.

Everyone’s fear racked up a couple of notches at that.

“What do we do!?”

“How many of them are there!?”

“Should we dive!?”

“CAPTAIN! WHAT ARE YOUR ORDERS!?” His first officer’s voice rang out above the din.

Klaus ran through their options, lightning fast. Once again, their gyroscopes still were malfunctioning, so accurate torpedo attacks were out of the question. They could emergency dive, and go deep, but the enemy ships already knew where they were. Diving like that would make a lot of noise from their ballast tanks expunging their air reserves. They also did not have a whole lot of battery power left after their approach; They wouldn’t be able to get far, especially not with the U-boat’s painfully slow underwater running speed. They were also still hopelessly outnumbered; the number of ASW capable ships present versus their lone boat meant that they would most likely be found quickly if they tried to escape. Where would they even escape to if they did? It wasn’t as though they had indefinite fuel. Where could they go?

“CAPTAIN!?” His first officer hollered.

Klaus could see other escort ships beginning to rotate their guns or maneuver to face them. Except for one, which appeared to have its attention still focused on something else, something in the water. He quickly turned his periscope to look where the ship appeared to be going towards, and saw something strange and green bobbing in the water, mostly concealed to him by the gentle rolls of the sea.

Something strange, green, and familiar bobbing in the water. There were no natural sea creatures that color and size. It would seem that their submarine wasn’t what prompted that initial depth charge strike.

That also gave him an idea.

“CAPTAIN!?” His first officer shouted again.

He tore his gaze from the periscope, and looked back to his terrified crew. He owed it to them to keep them safe. If fighting wasn’ an option, and it was too late for hiding, then there was only one remaining option left for them.

“PREPARE TO SURFACE!” Witt bellowed over him. “It’s too late for hiding now! Drain the ballast tanks and adjust the dive planes to ascend! Hans! You get ready to work the signal lamp, you’re coming up onto the sail with me!”

The crew stood and stared at him for a few moments of stunned silence. That was not what they were expecting.

“Are we surrendering?” Someone asked.

“No. Not if I can help it.” He assured, and started to climb the ladder up to the boat’s conning tower.

He unlocked the airtight seal and climbed onto the sail just as the water had receded enough for him to do so. Sunlight glinted off the water’s calm surface, dazzling him for just a moment as the boat slowly rose out of the water like some great beast which he rode upon. It would have been a rather cinematic and memorable scene if he weren't so terrified.

The corvette that spotted them and two other escort ships, probably frigates, had turned to face them bow-on, and were already beginning to bear down on their boat. He raised his hands and waved them in a wide gesture, hoping they would notice his unusual behavior and hold their fire.

Underwater, they were vulnerable to hydrophones and depth charge bombs. On the surface, they would lose any artillery duel with a surface vessel. It was uncommon that a submarine captain would attempt to utilize their deck gun in a last-ditch effort, but not unheard of.

Seaman Hans Fischer clambered up the ladder behind him. He was here because he was not only familiar with maritime codes, but Morse Code as well. He would use the boat’s signal lamp to try to communicate with the enemy ships.

Witt ordered him to the light, and told him to relay what he says through it, and to tell him what response they receive. With shaking hands, Hans grasped the small luminary device, switched it on, and pointed it towards the encroaching sub-hunters.

He opened up first. [“HOLD FIRE. NOT ATTACKING. PLEASE RESPOND. OVER.”]

It was basic and crude, but it should get the message across.

The oncoming escort ships didn’t visibly deviate from their course, but Klaus hoped he wasn’t imagining a slight hesitation in them. No return flashes were sent, but neither did cannon fire come, which was a good sign. He could imagine the sailors aboard those craft had no idea what to make of the situation; Spotting an enemy submarine, which promptly surfaced rather than diving, and having a man climb up, wave, and ask them via light signal to not shoot. He wouldn’t know what to do were he them, either.

They reiterated their signal: [“REPEAT. HOLD YOUR FIRE. WE ARE NOT ATTACKING. NEGOTIATE. PLEASE RESPOND. OVER.”]

After a few heavy minutes that dragged like hours, a response signal came.

[“STAND BY.”]

“They- they said to stand by, captain.” Hans stuttered.

“I know, seaman.” Witt responded. “That they haven't opened fire already is a good sign, I think. We will have to wait and see what they do next. Any sudden action on our part will likely prompt them to break the stalemate.”

And the stalemate held. The convoy escort ships slowed to a stop a few hundred meters away, and they and the submarine both held their positions. Neither sides moved nor signaled again, and a cold stillness fell over the scene.

Eventually, another ship, an American Destroyer, it looked to be, made its way around some supply ships and approached them steadily. Witt could see another escort vessel closing in to investigate the green bobbing object, which from here looked even more like another water dragon. It was either dead or just unconscious from the depth charge strike.

The full-size American destroyer passed the other two smaller warships confronting his boat, and continued on its course towards them. Witt could see sailors all across the ship’s deck and superstructure, many appearing to be holding firearms.

He steeled his composure and expression, hopefully concealing his wracking nerves. A feat seaman Hans didn’t even appear to be attempting, judging by his almost shaking posture. Klaus hoped that he could keep it together for long enough to decide the outcome of this encounter.

Refocusing his attention on the slowly approaching ship, the numbers 569 painted in bright white against the maritime gray of her bow, he noticed a uniquely-uniformed man standing upon the vessel’s superstructure, on the bridge’s port wing, standing out from the rest of the American sailors from his attire.

Probably that ship’s commanding officer. Perhaps even the lead escort ship’s CO, given this ship approached us rather than the other two. My Lord, this is serious.

Klaus wished he had been given a course on negotiation at any point during his own training, but he would just have to make do.

The warship slowed to a stop within 30 meters of the submarine, putting both parties within easy shouting range of each other. The destroyer was now too close to use her main guns, which couldn’t depress low enough to aim at them. That distance could very easily be widened, however, if the ship’s powerful engines were set to full ahead. Various crew across the deck were also manning 20mm gun positions that had a line of sight to his boat, so they could open fire quickly. Those autocannons, while meant to shoot at aircraft, could still do some serious damage to the boat’s aluminum pressure hull. Especially at such close range.

They had their own 2cm cannons, and a 10.5cm deck gun that could be brought to bear, but the latter weapon was completely exposed, and thus anyone trying to operate it would be vulnerable to even small arms fire which many of the American sailors that weren't manning positions held, and Witt had heard that bigger American destroyers like this one had anti fragmentation armor that was at least thick enough to resist his boat’s own autocannons.

Everyone he could see on the ship glared at him. He stared back. Their faces betrayed little emotions, other than a cold, minor amount of hostility. The soldier’s stare.

Witt cleared his throat and fought off the urge to shuffle in place. The silence dragged on, neither side seemingly knowing how to appropriately break it.

As a result of his former job at an elementary school, and his habit of tuning into foreign radio stations, he knew a little bit of English. But only a little. He also didn’t know if any of the American sailors knew German, which obviously complicated things.

He knew from his radio stations that the traditional way Brits initiate conversations with one another seemed to be through complaining about the weather, but these people were American, not British.

The weather wherever here was also rather pleasant, in his opinion.

So, he decided to start with another greeting phrase he had heard on the radio.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

The American sailors exchanged glances with each other. Hans wrung his hands. The commanding officer, probably either a Captain or Commander, if he remembered the US Navy ranks correctly, turned and said something to another man next to him, who actually appeared to be part of the enlisted crew, rather than an officer.

Said crewman turned back towards Klaus and Hans, and replied to him in accented, but fluent High German:

“What do you want? What are you doing here? How did you get here?”

Well, at least the stereotype of Americans being to-the-point holds true.

Truthfully, Witt was glad. What a stroke of luck it was that one of the sailors aboard that vessel would speak German! Then again, that could also be why it was this ship in particular that came all the way around the convoy to meet them, rather than either of the smaller vessels that initially confronted them.

As for the question, his first instinct was to throw the question back at the Americans, both because he was genuinely curious and because he didn’t really know. Even if he did, he didn’t feel particularly inclined to immediately answer an interrogative query from an enemy vessel. However, such a response could be considered somewhat confrontational, thus making it probably not the best option given the situation. Therefore, he instead decided to go against his inclination and attempted to answer as much as he could.

“I couldn’t tell you exactly how we got here, because I don’t know. The oddities began after we submerged to avoid a surprise storm, and, upon surfacing, discovered our compasses were malfunctioning and that we had lost all radio contact with, well, everybody.

We also stumbled across a few creatures like that one you appear to have caught.” He pointed to the neutralized green water dragon, which was in the process of being strung up to a crane on one of the escort vessels that went to investigate it in order to haul it out of the water.

“I assume that, if you also attempted to sail through that storm, that you have also come across similar water dragons? The ones, plural, that we had interacted with seemed to be aware of your presence here. They directed us here, which is how we got to this specific location.”

He paused and took a breath as the German-speaker turned and relayed his words to the commanding officer in English. As he spoke, Klaus almost felt as though his trepidation and nerves were fading somewhat. Collaborating, or at least negotiating, with enemy vessels, no matter how this conversation ended, would normally land him a charge of treason. Somehow, that wasn’t his most prominent concern at this point.

The CO seemed to contemplate the message given to him, still staring hard at Klaus and Hans, before speaking his own response, which was translated:

“We arrived here through a similar storm a few days ago. Though we have not come across any water dragons in specific until now. Our compasses are also malfunctioning.”

The CO once again spoke something serious-sounding to the interpreter, who repeated in German: “Back to the question; What do you want? What are you doing here?”

Witt mulled the question over. What do I want? What is our purpose in being here? How do we get out of this situation?

He eventually responded. “Given our shared situation, that is, us being stuck… wherever this is… I propose a… halt to hostilities, for the common goal of our survival and investigation of this strange place.”

His message was translated, and he got back from the CO: “Is that a request to surrender?”

Witt shook his head. He wouldn't go that far. Not yet. “A ceasefire agreement is what I am proposing.”

One could argue that, given the vast disparity of strength between the two factions, that even if they came to an agreement that didn’t involve their own absolute surrender, they still are not in much of a position to negotiate for much better. Something the Americans clearly knew as well.

“Are you in a position to argue for that? Between us and your submarine, there is rather sizable… power gap… between us.”

Well, obviously.

He did have one potential card he could use, though.

“That may be, but we have torpedoes. Torpedoes with firing solutions already tracked to several of your cargo ships, which I couldn’t help but notice are currently at anchor and unable to maneuver. Should you refuse to accept a simple ceasefire, and we refuse to surrender unconditionally to you, and we instead engage in battle, you would sink us, but could you manage it before we can launch our weapons? Is that outcome worth the cost?”

This was a risky bluff. If U-178 really loosed her eels, all that would come of it would be them either smashing into the seafloor, shooting out of the water and floundering around, or veering wildly off course and running in circles until they drowned. The question was, did the Americans also know that? Several of their escort ships, including the one before him, were also equipped with torpedoes. They could be aware of their own eel’s gyroscopic autopilots being defunct as well, and would thus be able to call his bluff.

However, from their perspective, it was also possible that his torpedoes could still be functional for unknown reasons. If so, were they willing to take that risk?

Should the roles be reversed, Witt didn’t think he would.

He continued: “As I said, we don’t have to fight. I would rather my crew be safe just as you would rather your ships and their crews be safe. I’m not asking for perfect cooperation or friendship, just a safety agreement. The war has nothing to do with this place, so we don’t have a reason to fight each other here and now.”

The translator once again relayed his words, and the Americans seemed to discuss his proposition with each other. The commanding officer stared at him for a long moment, remaining quiet. Witt’s threat about torpedoing their merchant ships seemed to have got many of them a little riled up, so it was probable they didn’t know he was bluffing. However, a sharp word from the CO returned discipline to his crew. He then said something to the translator with firmness, who in turn relayed:

“A ceasefire, then. We will not fire on you or yours unless you fire first, and vice versa. Further details, terms, and conditions can be discussed later.”

Hans beside him let out an exhale, and Klaus nearly did too. Was that it? Are we safe? I have to say, for someone who has had no diplomatic training whatsoever, that went pretty well.

Witt then requested if he could move their boat closer to shore, so his crew could have a chance at going on land after so long cramped inside the steel vessel for so long. A few of the Americans responded negatively to that, but the CO eventually agreed. Warning them to stay clear of the base camp they had set up, and to not antagonize the ‘locals.’ When he tried to inquire further about what that meant, he was told he would get a more thorough briefing later. He figured it was probably about whoever built that castle-structure.

Some things don’t change across different militaries, it seems.

Witt sent Hans below deck to catch them up on what happened, and to inform the helmsman to -slowly- sail around the convoy group towards the shore. They wouldn’t actually be able to land the boat, but they could drop anchor and use several rafts they had aboard to ferry people onto the beach. They also had a Bachstelze rotor kite, but he wasn’t sure what that would be good for, at the moment.

As their boat carefully moved along a predictable path, being closely followed by the escort ships to ensure no funny business, Klaus caught a better view of the water dragon being hauled out of the water. The Americans had managed to get a sort of rope sling around it, and had lifted it out of the water and onto the deck of the ship that was lifting it via boat recovery crane. The small frigate then started moving for the shore as well. He couldn’t tell if the dragon was still alive or not, it was possible that it was simply unconscious. He supposed they would find out later.

Later… Klaus rubbed his forehead and tried to stave off the encroaching headache. There was a lot going to be happening ‘later.’ The safety of his crew depended on him to negotiate an actual settlement with the Allied soldiers they were stuck with. Perhaps he could try to leverage what limited knowledge they had on the water dragons. The prospect of the task at hand daunted him, particularly the notion that they still had no idea where they were. Or even what ‘here’ is and why it has water dragons in it. Still, worrying won’t get him anywhere. The best -only- thing that he could really do was just roll with it, and take the challenge one task at a time.

***

>Captain Robert Drake’s Personal Log:_

Woe be to those who dare ask how things could get any worse. Or at least weirder, in this case.

Where do I even start this? I suppose I should just start chronologically. Little happened throughout the morning, just good progress with constructing the FOB, managing cargo unloading, and learning the local language, which many sailors have begun to dub “Chittish” after the frequency of high-pitching falsetto consonant sounds present when they’re speaking. I received a written report from signalman Olson and his team regarding several aspects that they could learn of the local’s infrastructure, specifically their agriculture and metalworks. Interesting stuff, I guess. I suppose the history nuts would get more out of it than me.

No contacts had been detected on RADAR since the attack of the black dragons. Nevertheless, we were on edge thanks in part to horror stories related to us from the locals about their experiences with the native dragon species. They were particularly adamant about dragons coming from the waves, which probably had a rather large effect on the outcome of what happened earlier.

All was quiet until early in the afternoon, when one of the Royal Navy Corvettes, HMS Lancaster Castle, picked up a distinct sound on their hydrophone systems, and flipped out. The SONAR techs, when later questioned, insisted that the sound was too loud and close to have been caused naturally. In hindsight, I suppose they were at least partially right.

Anyway, Lancaster Castle immediately went to general quarters, sounded the alarm and charged full ahead at the contact before anyone else knew what was going on.

This is the second time a member of the convoy escort group has operated outside of given orders.

She managed to drop a single depth charge over the contact area before I or Captain Arthur could order her to stand down. Normally, if there was actually a sub present in the location, a single depth charge would have done little. However, Not two minutes after the aquatic bomb detonated did a big green thing float up to the surface like a dead fish. It turns out that the local’s stories about sea dragons were true, to the surprise of absolutely no one at this point.

We fished the sea dragon out of the water, and are pretty sure it isn’t dead. The doctors said they detected a pulse, so we’re going to go with not dead. From where the thing appeared, it was fairly far away from the depth charge’s blast radius. Good for it, I guess. Any closer and the hydrostatic shock wave would have done a hell of a lot more than give it a concussion.

Personally, I hope we can keep the dragon alive. It has intel that it can give us. The nature of that intel, or how we’ll go about acquiring it… is a different question.

As for the other… matter of pressing import, let’s call it… That sea dragon wasn’t the only thing lurking around underwater, because one of the Destroyer escorts spotted a periscope a ways off while investigating the stunned dragon. A damn periscope. The worst nightmare of any convoy ship. Aside perhaps from a small, rapidly approaching bubble trail.

In hindsight, it's a little humorous that we’re more concerned of a glass and steel tube poking out of the water than we are with the appearance of a mythical giant carnivorous aquatic reptile.

At that point everyone really went to general quarters, and the escort ships that had moved to investigate the dragon broke off and began to charge the submarine. Which, to everyone’s surprise, rather than diving or launching torpedoes, surfaced fully and signaled a request for parley. Not really knowing what else to do, I accepted, brought signalman Olson back aboard the Sampson because I know he can speak German, and went out to meet the kraut sub.

The U-boat skipper, who I now believe is named Corvette Captain Witt or something, seemed the reasonable type, at least from first impressions. He claimed we ought to put our ‘conflict’ aside for the time being and try to work together given our ‘shared circumstance’. At least that’s what Olson related to me, anyway. It’s a bit magnanimous, but I find myself in agreement. I wonder, though, if he would have been so willing for a truce had there not been such a disparity of firepower between us.

The skipper made clear that he wasn’t offering to surrender, but rather a ceasefire agreement. I’m not a diplomat, and he clearly wasn’t either.

Honestly, I just wanted to get out of the awkward situation and accepted without pressing the issue. We’ll have to work out the more technical details later. How that will go will be… interesting. I’m not sure what exactly they’ll try to argue for, as it’s not like they’re negotiating from a position of strength. Perhaps the skipper simply wanted some semblance of autonomy for him and his crew, (i.e, not being prisoners of war) which I admit I’m fine with. I won’t start trouble unless they do first.

Oh, that reminds me. Captain Witt did at first try to force some leverage. Specifically, he threatened that he could torpedo some of our merchant ships. I think he was bluffing, both because he insinuated that he would only launch if we opened fire first, indicating an unwillingness, or inability, to strike first. And because of how quickly he seemed to drop the threat and move his boat closer to the shore rather than keeping it in a position from which torpedoes could be quickly launched. Not to mention their gyroscopic fire directors and course-correction systems probably also weren't working, unless they have some kraut space magic that lets their gyroscopes work correctly on a planet with slightly different gravity and rotation speed than Earth, where said gyros were designed.

I didn’t call his bluff at the time, because it would have prolonged and complicated the exchange for longer than need be. If they try to pull that card again, though, I won’t hesitate.

A few of the Germans went ashore, to the chagrin of the many Americans and Brits already there. The locals, from what I heard, responded with a mix of confusion and excitement at the new people and mysterious new boat. I heard that some of their reactions to hearing them speak German when they were expecting English, were rather funny. At least to our boys who were there observing them. The Germans, for their part, largely avoided the Allied sailors and soldiers already there, sticking mostly to the other side of the town. Don’t know how long that’ll last, though. It’s not like they have the materials to set up their own housing like we do. I had a few men observe them and what they got up to, but all they witnessed were a bunch of lanky, ill-shaven and unkempt 18 and 19 year-olds that just seemed happy to be on land and near trees again.

I heard from some of my men in the translation effort, that several of the locals complained about the “new foreigners” smelling bad. Corroborating that, I also heard from LTC Speris of one of the Germans walking up to the FOB camp, bold as anything, and begging them to let them use their washing machines. The nickname “Stinky Krauts” has already begun to spread at viral speeds amongst the FOB and sailors alike as a result.

As for the sea dragon, I had it moved from the ships onto the shore, hauled over to the FOB and tied down using cargo securing lines and spare chains. We attempted to conceal it from the locals as best we could, but some inevitably saw the giant algae-green sea reptile and invariably freaked out. The ones that didn’t run away demanded that we kill it, which I don’t want to do. We could potentially use its help with that dragon scroll we found, as we have no idea where to even begin to start with that. That, and we can also do well to learn a lot more about the dragon races here in general. That is, more than what we could learn from examining the mostly-intact corpses of the black dragons we shot down. Speaking of them, I ought to be receiving a written report on what several doctors aboard our ships could determine about their anatomy from examination and dissection, as well as a report from some weapons specialists regarding the effectiveness of their natural armor and weapons against the terminal ballistic characteristics of our own man-portable weapons, to gauge how effective our own carryable weapons are against them. I’m sure it’ll be an interesting read, at least.

Anyway, I’m tired. And signing off for now.