In light of Jung’s rousing declaration, the skirmish unfolding in the outer sections show promising progress for Jung’s force. Reports flow in regarding the Ruthenian assaults being rebuffed time and again. For every ship that Jung might have lost, there are always a dozen Ruthenian ships destroyed or knocked out of action. And at first, Jung felt these losses were acceptable. But as the skirmish developed into a pitched battle, it dawns on Jung that replenishing his losses would become more difficult if he does not eliminate the Ruthenian threat soon enough.
“Cap’n… the Kafraiya is curious as to why we aren’t utilizing more of our fleet?” The orange-haired communications operator asks. At the moment they are only using about fifty or so ships, which Jung uses as a spread-out screen within the asteroid field. As Jung looks on at the holographic table and the miniature polygonal ships, it feels less of a firefight and more of a deadly game of peeking in and out of cover to fire. Just offscreen on the Federation side is the tip of the armada fleet that encroaches slowly into the fray. It never ceases to be overwhelmingly menacing as more of it comes into view.
“Tell the Kafraiya that it’s too early to bring the fleet into full force,” Jung replies “he is doing an impressive job inflicting this much damage on the Ruthenian squadrons with only a fraction of their strength,” Jung leans over the table, and phases his hand over the area of the holographic map where the two fleets intersect the most “it’s too risky to bring in more ships with the nearby meteor shower going on—too difficult too coordinate and maintain discipline. But as soon as that clears it’s going to make it easier for the Ruthenians to advance—not to mention one less hurdle for the Federation host,” Jung states as he takes a step back from the holographic table, amazed at the Kafraiya’s success—and even more impressed at the Federation incompetence.
It would be impossible to pinpoint how many ships were in the initial Ruthenian engagement but if Jung were to give a rough estimate there could have been close to one hundred thirty ships. Now, it seems after half an hour of fighting there might be around eighty left. All the while the colonial gains have been almost minimal until now—and yet, to Jung’s amazement, the Ruthenian commander doggedly whips his men to their death. Jung can only wonder if the Ruthenian command structure is staffed with inexperienced men. Perhaps Jung’s declaration made them teeming with frenzy, an interesting byproduct if Jung says so himself.
“Captain Jung, we have been forwarded a message from the Kafraiya,” the orange-haired operator states.
“Oh? If they’re asking how to proceed next with the Ruthenians, then I suggest they ask the enemy commander what to do,” Jung remarks but the lad shakes his head.
“Well…” he frowns “to be more specific, it’s actually an open broadcast from the enemy force they’re engaging,” the lad says “supposedly most of the ships out there received it… but it’s in Ruthenian, so most of them don’t have a clue what their foe is blabbering about.”
When Jung asks if there’s a transcript for it, he is led to the communications station and presented a note written in syllables that Jung fails to understand at first—but Jung does recognize some of them, specifically the last bit of the message. And when Jung racks his brain enough to remember his Ruthenese he crumbles the paper and lets out a hearty laugh. “Er… what was the message about, cap’n?” The communications operator asks as the two of them walk back to the flickering blue-tinted holographic table.
“Have you ever heard the idiom; it all sounds like Greek to me?” Jung asks his companion and the orange-haired young man thinks for a minute before shaking his head “it’s one of those dead idioms from before Terra’s fascination with nuclear Armageddon… anyway, the Ruthenian language has always been bizarre to me; most of the message was just a long-winded insult in some way or another. But the part that I understood was the last bit of it; Die, Wulf!” Jung exclaims with sarcasm.
“I… see,” as Jung slaps him on the back.
“Now, I think it would be appropriate to send those nice gentlemen a message of my own.”
“And what would that be, cap’n?” The young man asks. Jung smiles brightly.
“What do you think the Ruthenians hate more than anything, even someone more than me?” Before the lad can answer Jung snaps his fingers “the Federation… of course, send this to the Kafraiya and instruct him to broadcast it to the enemy fleet…” Jung pauses. What would be even fitting to add insult to injury? To send it back in broken Ruthenian, in broken Australian, or perhaps in Toscanese? So many choices, Jung thinks, but he nods his head upon coming up with an idea: “Die, Federation scum!” Jung exclaims to which his companion and onlookers stare in disbelief “—just like that. Oh, well, I suppose you could instruct the Kafraiya to add in a string of insults of his own, as well…” Jung rubs his whiskered chin in ponder.
“Do I even want to ask how we should send it? In what language, I mean,” the communications officer asks, exchanging glances with the others.
“Tell the blokes at the Kafraiya and the other ships to do their utmost best Straya impressions,” Jung says a little too smugly.
“Cap’n… I’m having a creeping suspicion that you are not taking this battle seriously,” the lad remarks cautiously.
“What’s your name, son?” Jung asks. Puzzled, the orange-haired operator rubs his neck after glancing over at the others.
“Er… it is Adrian, cap’n,” an unprovoked slap on the back followed by anoomph nearly sees the man crash over the strategic table.
“There’s more to fights than just lugging artillery at each other, son,” Jung says “you gotta play with your prey a little—get them worked up in the worst ways possible—get in their head, play mind games with them!” Jung says too cracking a grin.
“I think I get what you mean, cap…” Adrian groans rubbing his shoulder “I think it’s a little ridiculous… but I’ll instruct the guys at the front to go wild with imagination!” Adrian starts to run off but stops when Jung tells him to wait.
“I will also need you to relay to the front-line ships to pull back a little,” Jung shifts his eyes to a sole digital ship that represents the Montepuez “but I want it to be explicitly stated as a tactical maneuver —and don’t give me that look like you don’t know what I mean!” Jung says “with this escalation, I need to draw in the Ruthenian squadrons to eliminate them easier…” Jung leans onto the table “the longer we allow them to linger in the open the easier the likelihood of the Federation linking up with them. And if that happens, then it’s all over.
“We wouldn’t last very long against Federation nuclear missiles. They’ll tear those asteroids apart with ease,” Jung looks up at Jargon, Adrian, and the few other Mafia lieutenants present “we should be counting our luck that it’s not Metropol squadrons we are engaging first. From the looks of it, these colonial ones still stick to their naval guns… so long as the Federation doesn’t link up with them, they won’t be able to complement each other’s weaknesses.
“Once the Straya insults gets to their heads, I want all ships to tactically maneuver back into a semicircular formation. Rather or not they assume vertical or horizontal positions I’ll leave that up to the men to decide,” Jung strokes his unkempt chin “it might be necessary to shoo some more men to the reorganized positions. I think Jean was holding on to most of them, correct?”
Adrian frowns in ponder as his eyes race around the room “Jean? Hm, I think so. You want me to pass that on to her, too?” Adrian pauses and sneaks a grin in “—you want me to hand the news on a platter to the Federation as well?” Jung only rolls his eyes at this wise guy’s attempt at sarcasm.
“I’d rather they would appreciate the tip—now then, get out of my sight until you have something interesting to share,” and with that Adrian jolts off to set the plans in motion. Jung’s gaze falls to the Federation side of the holographic map—and another wave of goosebumps claw away at him as the formations now take up almost one whole portion of the strategic table.
Even if Jung is to successfully knock the Ruthenians out of action, how will he handle the mammoth that lies before him? Assuming that Jung does not suffer considerable losses in his ploy with the colonial force, he would have something less than three hundred ships to handle a force whose numbers are just shy of one thousand seven hundred. And there’s no telling just how many ships Li has. At best, he may be able to pull off the trick twice with far lesser success—inflict serious losses on the Federation and perhaps tactically maneuver to the Velksland Clusters—with or without theDon.
On the other hand, if his men fail to neutralize the Ruthenians in time it’s essentially handing over the beachhead on a silver platter. And then, Jung can’t help but think it all just comes back to Li. If Li were here, what would she do in this scenario? Defy her father and retreat, or stand her ground in the asteroid belt and wither down the enormous Federation beast? Ships are manned by flesh and blood with self-deterministic values after all; inflict enough losses and there’s no telling if mutinies will brew among their ranks.
But as Jung’s gaze shifts to the polygonal pirate ships, it’s safe to say that the same could be said for him. Even as the skirmish started Beatrice offered a third alternative out of this mess. What’s to say someone won’t grow some balls and chance it against him? As Jung sighs and rubs his temples, there really is only one thing he can do; sit and wait for the battle to unfold. There are a plethora of ways this can go but Jung will gain nothing out of it bar a migraine.
Fed up with staring at the holographic display, Jung leaves the rest to Jargon and shuffles over to his commander’s chair.
Jung waits with bated breath for the Ruthenian reaction to the Strayainsult. A part of him believes it could be wishful thinking, but he knows better than anyone that the Ruthenians are never the ones to back down from insults. He observes the main bridge monitor intently for any signs of major movement—which there is a distinct lack of to Jung’s disappointment. The Kafraiya and her front-line ships move slower in their tactical maneuverthan Jung expected, but this is likely the Kafraiya captain playing caution.
Maybe I’m wrong? Jung thinks, perhaps I overestimated the Ruthenian commander’s incompetence… maybe they did wise up while I was in hibernation. On the bright side, at least the tactical maneuver has been wonderfully executed all things considered. Jung can only imagine the stress the ship crews must be under the artillery barrages between fleets.
Just as Jung ponders about using a bigger bait for his plan, he hears a commotion from down below. Getting up from his seat the old Wulf leans over to get a view but instead the developments on the main monitor catches his eye; finally, the Ruthenians were capitalizing on the tactical maneuver and moving in—and they were moving in faster than Jung anticipated. “Order the Kafraiya captain to give more leeway,” Jung shouts from his balcony down to Adrian who—like others nearby—gives him puzzling looks, “and send a message to Jean to send a few more ships to reinforce wherever needed.”
“Message from the Kafraiya!” Adrian shouts after delivering Jung’s orders, Jung gives the nod to read it “it reads as follows; er…” Adrian owlishly blinks as he clears his throat “notwithstanding the string of insults, he asks; ‘and with that said, I hope you know what the hell you’re doing, you senile dog,’end message,” Adrian finishes and looks up to Jung who only replies with a series of snorts.
“What a good sport! Assuming it is who I think it is from the old days… the captain used to be critical of everything I did. But I’ll be damned if he didn’t execute my orders well.” As the clock ticks on, Jung watches in near-awe as the Ruthenian squadrons greedily flood into the gaping positions seemingly abandoned by their pirate adversities. “Perhaps it worked out too well?” Jung utters, “I was contemplating using the Wulfhere as a hefty bait, but it seems the Ruthenian officers finally succumbed to their temptation.”
As the Ruthenians continue to “push back” the Mafia forces, Jung notes that the colonial formations now seem more disorganized than before. Namely, they struggle to maneuver from one asteroid to another. On occasion, Jung lets out a sensible chuckle as careless colonial ships crash into asteroids here and there. In one instance, the Wulfhere is lucky to get real-time footage of a small section of colonial ships poorly coordinate and accidentally ram into each other during a firefight.
“Those fools! I almost feel sorry for them,” Jargon says “but while this is good and all… if they take too many losses, won’t they run the risk of falling back, captain? Or even staying put and waiting out for the fleet to arrive” Jung looks at the ever-imposing Federation fleet, now at least a light-year second1Form of astronomical measurement, for example roughly 1.2 light-seconds is the distance between the Earth and Moon. away or possibly even less than that. Jung doubts that the Ruthenians would want their sorry asses to be relieved. But at the same time it’s all the more likely they might throw away their Federal grudges just this once.
“Adrian! Tell the Kafraiya to continue tactically maneuvering backward,” Jung states to the continued puzzlement of the crew “actually… I think I have an even better idea,” Jung strides toward Adrian’s communication console and rips the headphones from the orange-haired adolescent.
It’s a ploy that might sit uncomfortably with the Don— no, it will agitate the man. But Jung has a limited amount of options. He can’t afford to let the Ruthenians act cowardly now. He needs them to continue acting irrationally so that he can avoid getting steamrolled by the combined Federation fleets. Jung sets the communication array to most open frequencies—which includes broadcasts to the enemy fleet. Jung clears his throat a couple of times, but before turning the radio on the old Wulf looks back at a curious Jargon—and grins foolishly.
“Whatever may happen, Jargon, I will take full responsibility for my actions… there will be a purpose to this madness.
“To all ships! This is Jung Lee of the Wulfhere…” the old Wulf loudly clears his throat with urgency “you have all fought the good fight… but I mustbegrudgingly issue an order to retreat! We will regroup at the Clusters and hold out for the Madame!”
Just as Jung is about to end the transmission he shifts gears and sets the frequency to Mafia ships only “don’t let them get any funny ideas! I want you to harass those morons until they flush themselves out in an attempt to foolishly take advantage of our ‘disorganized retreat’! Maintain and widen the semicircular formations if possible—let’s not turn this illusion into the real deal.
“If the colonials don’t take your bait—then keep pelting them until they do. And once they do, let’s split these shit for brains and annihilate them!For the Mafia!” Murmurs of disbelief give way to reluctant ayes before Jung cuts the transmission. There must have been a spell of shock cast over theWulfhere, as the weight of realization sets in among the crew. Jung wants to abandon the asteroid belt to the Federation.
“Jung… you’re certain you aren’t going senile on me already? Should I relieve you and send you off to the doc?” Jargon worriedly asks—without so much as sarcasm in his voice Jung wishes the man is joking. It hurts Jung knowing he is getting old.
“I’ve gone mad years ago, my friend,” Jung says. The old Wulf turns to the Wulfhere pilot, “now… we need to play the part of our little charade. I want you to turn this ship around—yes, around —and proceed at full knots. The other ships will take notice and do much the same.”
“You sound awfully confident that this won’t turn into a full-blown retreat,” Jargon starts, but is briefly cut off by Adrian.
“A transmission from the Don—” the orange-haired adolescent stammers.
“Frankly, I don’t want to hear it,” Jung says with a sigh “in fact I want you to block any further communications with the man. Zhui is quick to jump to assumptions. And as I said, I will take responsibility for this later when this is all done. But now is not the way to waste even a second.”
Jung’s prediction is right on the mark as most ships imitate Jung and turn around to “retreat” under the cover fire provided by the few ships that act as rearguards. And the colonial squadrons—or what is left of them—are none the wiser. Their hesitation gone, greed once again takes over and they sally out from the safety of the occupied asteroid belt to pursue the Mafia.
As a result of Jung’s plan to broaden their semicircular formations, the Ruthenian squadrons begin to peter out into several different trajectories. One of which also heads for Jung’s fleet.
And seeing as its allies are distracted chasing after the other Mafia detachments, it’s just what Jung needs to lunge into action.
Jung orders the fleet to turn around and engage the stray squadron chasing them. The battle that follows proves to be easier than Jung expects. Being more or less the sparingly-used reserves, his ships have enjoyed a by-large good amount of rest and more than enough munitions and fuel to outmaneuver and overpower the Ruthenians—who Jung has no doubt have not been given time to recuperate or let alone rearm and refuel.
“To call this a battle would be tragic,” Jung remarks to Jargon “it’s akin to a massacre… I too would feel sorry for them, Jargon… but you have to remember that each and every sailor knew what they were getting themselves into when they signed up with their navies” Jung says wistfully “I would feel more sympathetic for these poor souls being led by overzealous commanders than anything else.”
“What you’re doing is no different,” Jargon interjects “all these reckless maneuvers… I would say that is like you, but we haven’t so much as gone through the likes of this battle before.”
Jung scratches his patchy chin, “perhaps… I am merely one incompetent leader capitalizing on another’s inability to make rational decisions. That’s all warfare is, really. One slip-up by one fellow in charge is all it takes to snowball into a decisive defeat,” Jung looks his friend square in the eyes “let’s hope that I am not setting an example for the books.”
The two of them observe in solemn silence the mammoth Federation armada that now covers half of the bridge’s main display. The majority of its force is now more or less securing the outer parameter of the vacant asteroid belt. It won’t be long now that Jung must face the main event of the show.
Without a second more to spare, Jung orders his fleet to march to the relief of the Mafia fleet that has gone North—and is rather surprised to find that the detachment there has gone from a feign retreat to an authentic one. As a result, Jung is appalled that their strength has been cut to pieces.
“Jean…” Jung mutters to himself “what the hell is Jean doing?!” It’s the realization that Jean is in that fleet that causes his apprehension to turn into worry. Worry that gives him the sweats. “Contact Jean’s ship, I need to know…”
Adrian tries addressing Jean’s ship to no avail, to the old Wulf’s dismay. The orange-haired lad slips the headphones off and shakes his head. “No luck, cap’n, the Ruthenians must be jamming them pretty hard— agh!”Adrian suddenly finds himself grappled by the collar by a seething Wulf.
“You damn well keep trying, son, if you knew what’s best for you,” he utters in Adrian’s terrified face “if anything were to happen to Jean…”
“Captain!” Jargon plants a firm hand on Jung’s shoulder. Jung finally realizes that his attitude has gotten the best of him and sets Adrian down. “Don’t take it out on the kid—he hasn’t done anything wrong!” Jargon retorts jabbing Jung on the chest “you were the one going on about responsibility—if the miss dies… you would have nobody to blame but yourself!” Jung balls his fists in anger. He wouldn’t admit it, of course, but Jargon is correct. All the old Wulf can afford to do now is sit and wait for the fighting to end here.
Jung does not have to wait around for long, however. Jung’s relief force catches the ill-prepared Ruthenian force off-guard, and after a brief yet intense massacre there remains nothing of colonial force but metal carcasses and burnt flesh. In a way, the feint-turned-real route worked out for Jung a little too well.
But the victory means nothing to Jung if his beloved friend isn’t alive. Jung quickly makes his way back to Adrian and the communications station and rips the headphones from the orange-haired adolescent before he has a chance to react. “C-cap’n!” Adrian stammers, having been nearly pushed out of his seat in the process.
“Jean’s ship, which one is she on?” Jung asks, but snorts “never mind—I’ll just broadcast to the whole damn lot!… This is Jung Lee to you good for nothing shit brains…” Jung’s husk voice trails off unable to process what to say next. “Give me a run-down on who’s in command over there… is captain Jean…?” Another hesitant trail off as he prays to whoever celestial deity might be tuning in to his mortal plea.
A second later, an incoming ring prompts Jung to answer it without hesitation—and he sighs like never before, slumping into the chair feeling at peace with himself.
“Geez, cap’n… you’re getting too old and you’re becoming too much of a worry-wart!” The soprano voice of Jean does wonders to inject Jung with new life. “I feel like this is the most you’ve shown any care for me in the past couple years—”
Jung cuts her off with a hoarse cough. He is rather glad that the video screen isn’t on and his back is turned to his men. “I should’ve asked you to stick close to the Wulfhere— you going off on your own is going to do wonders to my heart, sweetheart,” Jung hears what he believes is a yelp, but it’s rather nosy on his end so he makes nothing of it. “With that said, I want you to reorganize your men as best as you can and take possession of the decoy fleet… and await my orders after that. Take care, Jean,” and with that Jung cuts the transmission. He helps Adrian up and plants the headphones firmly in the lad’s hands.
“Sorry about that, kid—contact the Kafraiya and let them know that we’ve eliminated the colonial force on our end,” Jung asks Adrian as the orange-haired operator slips on his headset “I need to know how he is doing on his part.”
Leaving Adrian behind the old Wulf heads to the strategic table for a more immediate update on the situation. At a glance, it seems the Kafraiya’scontingent had less difficulty compared to Jean’s force. Unfortunately for Jung, however, it seems that the colonial remnants there grew some bigger shit-brains and started retracing their steps into the asteroid belt. They seeme battered to hell, so he has to give the Kafraiya captain some credit for accomplishing what he could against a numerical foe. Which Jung finds a good thing since marching over to that battlefield would cost Jung precious time.
And just one brief look at the Rouen asteroid belt is sufficient enough to tell the tired Wulf that he no longer has that commodity. His hour-glass has all but dried up.
And with not so much of a sliver of news about Li, he can only accept the possibility that the tables will now be flipped.
If only he had more time. If only the Federation advance was slower. If only he eliminated the Ruthenian squadrons quicker.
When Adrian gets back to Jung, it is more or less reinforcing the vague idea that Jung has already gathered: the Ruthenians have executed a rearguard action in pursuit of a rendezvous with their allies now nestling in the asteroid field. In all likelihood, the Kafraiya captain will be unable to neutralize the stubborn colonial force but insists that the force is battered enough that it will be rendered useless in any tactful manner. And that is more than good enough for Jung. Deadweight for the Federation to worry about—but Jung wouldn’t put it past them to use them as cannon fodder to save their own.
“Adrian, just to be sure… there still is no news from Lübeck or even theCastelforte?” Jung says tapping the glowy surface of the holographic table that flickers with each touch. To the Wulf’s dismay, Adrian shakes his head.
“No such luck… only the static void,” Jung slams a fist down on the table with a thud that makes Adrian flinch. Two hundred fifty ships against a fleet that numbers one thousand seven hundred. No more reserves, no more petty tricks to wrap his opponent around. If only he had more time!
Jung has accomplished so much, and yet his mountain of problems stands as tall as ever. Whatever action Jung will take next will be the decisive blow. Retreat at this point would be impossible—both forces are locked into the asteroid belt. Even if he manages to slip through the Federation barrages, he won’t survive the wrath of the Don.
“The only option I have left is to go out in a blaze of glory, huh?” Jung remarks somberly. Jargon and Adrian look at him curiously before exchanging glances. At that point, the image of Frau crosses his mind. Her radiating smile is enough to give Jung a glimmer of hope in an otherwise hopeless situation.
If only he left behind Jean. If only he didn’t let his wounded pride get in the way of things. He could go out in this blaze of glory with no regrets.
Looking back on it, Jung wonders why he didn’t just refuse the offer. He shouldn’t have let himself get talked into it—maybe he has gotten too sentimental for his good; a sentiment that has cost him a peaceful life if only a little longer. Even if the Federation won here, it’s not like they would go after him specifically. That’s something that could take years before judgment shows up on his doorstep.
But Jung can’t dwell on his regrets forever. This is the path he chose, and he will reach the end and resolve this once and for all.
“Adrian,” Jung says with a sigh causing the youth to flinch, “I need Jean to prepare the decoy fleet for use. Inform her to redeploy them on my left flank—I’m going to use them as part of a push into the Federation center,” Both Adrian and Jargon owlishly blink, unsure of what the Wulf captain means.
“We only have one shot at this,” Jung continues “I’m going to punch through the Federation ships, seek out their capital ship and knock it out of action. I believe this is the best chance we have at forcing them to withdrawal…” Jung clears his throat before continuing “—or at least bide more time for the Madame Scarface to arrive… failing that, it will make theDon come to his senses and give up Velksland, in the process letting the Mafia live to fight for another day. Though for all I know. Lübeck could very well be in Federation hands.”
But perhaps attacking the enemy’s flagship will not be enough. There will be, of course, other leading officers in the fleet who will assume command. All that matters is Jung maximizing their dead body count and compelling their commanders into a retreat.
With uncertainty weighing on his shoulders, Jung pushes his cheeks and rubs his wet forehead. “I believe it is better to make the first move, then sit and react to whatever the Metropol fleet will do, either way, and I hate to say it; but we are essentially screwed. This is no longer about running on borrowed time or holding out for a force that may come… I still have hope she will arrive… it might be fantasy, but perhaps her arrival will scare the Federation off,” Jung muses as he continues to rub his scratchy goatee. “If either of you has better ideas… then now is the time to give me a piece of your mind.”
When it is evident neither has anything to say, Jung sighs with disappointment. “Very well—please pass my order to Jean—and tell theKafraiya that it may do as it sees fit—to act in tandem with the decoy fleet or not is up to his leisure.” Adrian excuses himself with the customary salute and leaves Jung and Jargon alone at the table.
“Jargon, I’m going to use this opportunity to give you the chance of leaving the Wulfhere,” Jung states, staring at the traffic of Federation ships maneuvering in the asteroid fields.
“Er, Jung…?”
“This is a suicide mission, Jargon. The Wulfhere will be at the helm; you’re hardly over thirty, aren’t you?” Jung rests a hand on the man’s shoulder “even if the Wulfhere were to be destroyed, so long as you survive I could die knowing that you could rebuild her—and crew her with a younger generation of pups. Hell, you could put all of this behind you and find a nice broad to settle down with.”
“You’re being ridiculous, captain” Jargon replies forcefully “the Wulfhere is the Wulfhere… getting a new ship and crew wouldn’t be the same. It’d be like getting a new dog after your old one dies…”
“And like an aging sick dog, this bucket of bolts has had its fair share of fond and tragic memories. A new Wulfhere means you can make new memories with it and not be chained down with bitter memories of old husks like me.”
“Listen to yourself, you sound like a deranged old man,” Jargon remarks bitterly “if you wanted to act like a proper wise captain to someone, you should be doing it to someone like Adrian…”
Jung chuckles and nods his head, “that’s right, you could take Adrian with you. I don’t like the idea of sending kids off to their deaths to cement my status as a legend. The two of you could work together to…”
“I’m not leaving, and neither will he,” Jargon says facing Jung “we’re all in this together.”
Jung only shakes his head, and with another round of shoulder pats he smiles “real stubborn kid aren’t you? I wouldn’t grace you the title of Wulf der Rouen for nothing.”
With the launch of the decoy fleet, as well as Kafraiya’s decision to act in tandem with it, the seesaw for the asteroid belt begins. Jung stalls for time—time needed for the Federation to lower their guard and respond to this seemingly newfound pirate strength. According to Adrian, there is lots of confused radio chatter about the reports that what they saw hours earlier were decoy balloons, and shouts up and the chain of command that they were deceived into fighting the original fighting strength of the Mafia.
In truth, it is merely Jung’s take on Li’s initial ploy; some authentic ships were slipped into the charade, giving the impression that the whole assaulting force is real. Adding to the chaos in the southern portion of the asteroid belt where the Kafraiya crashes against local Federation forces there.
And while that sector heats up, the Wulfhere jumps out of its meteorite bedrock and leads the charge into the Federation center. To Jung’s surprise, the center practically folds on itself, creating a salient that only increases the further the Wulfhere’s ships advance. Jung must’ve overestimated the Federation’s organization in the asteroid belt right then and there. If he had waited to initiate the assault any later he does not doubt that the Federation would’ve dug in with disciplined firing lines.
“So long as we stick close those Feddie dogs, they will be powerless to unleash any barrage unless they want a nuclear holocaust on their hands—pilot! Bring us to a higher elevation, we must seek out the capital ship as soon as possible…” Jung stares at the rather bold salient brought about by the Federation’s center collapse “this rift won’t remain open forever.”
The further the salient goes, the tougher opposition gets and the fewer asteroids they can use as cover. And yet there was still no sign of the Federation’s capital ship.
“It has to be around here somewhere,” Jung remarks standing over the table. His gaze jumps from one polygonal ship to another present in the warpath of the Wulfhere to no avail. “Could it be even further back? No…” a click of his tongue “perhaps my gambit failed and it was in one of the flanks? Dammit!” He laments slamming a fist on the pale blue-screened table.
Was it all in vain? Was Beatrice correct about him after all? Was he merely tossing aside the lives of so many men and women for nothing, doomed to repeat his failures at Abassi? No matter how far Jung goes, he will never achieve that glory that slipped from his fingers at that battlefield so many years ago. It’s as though once again the silver lining he reaches out for fades away into nothingness.
Eventually this salient will fail, and the Mafia will be done for. Even if Li were to arrive now, he’d be leaving her with a troublesome situation that not even she could claw her way out of.
He has let everyone down. There’s no way he could look Jean, Simon, and Frau, and everyone else in the eyes after this is all over—much less in the afterlife.
“Enemy flagship spotted! The Trinidad… six hundred kilometers below us!”
Did he hear that right? No, there must be some mistake. Jung couldn’t believe it for even a second. He looks up at the holographic map, eyes darting from one polygonal ship to the other—
And with a gasp of air, it’s there, sure enough. The majestic Trinidadsurrounded by its equally gallant screen of smaller digitized ships.
This is the moment he longed for. The very crucial moment he would make up for all these years ago, practically dancing in the palm of his hand.
“Order all gunners to focus their fire on the Trinidad!” Jung exclaims “this is it! We’ve done it!” He reels around to face the bridge crew “this is the moment we’ve all waited for! The chance to avenge our comrades at Abassi!” With a clenched fist Jung pounds his chest “with this single strike, theWulfhere has reasserted itself as the scourge of the Federation!”
Out of the corner of his eye, a lone individual panicky jolts from his seat and then suddenly crashes backward—but Jung is too euphoric to pay any mind to it.
“Glory to the Mafia! Glory to the Wulfhere!” Jung shouts, and the bridge chants it back.
But it’s a moment spent short-lived. In the midst of the chant, the individual from before frantically waves his arms over his head, eyes wide with terror. It sounds like he’s screaming something—but Jung can’t make it out over the men paying their respects.
It’s only when the others quiet down, does it strike Jung like lightning what the frantic is screaming. The others catch on too, but in their moment of triumph, it is too late to change their fate.
Torpedo! Torpedo! Torpedo coming in hot from below!
Blindsided by his evidential glory, the last thoughts that cross Jung’s mind are the three loves throughout his life: Fa, Frau, Jean.
