Given the hardships that my fleet endures moving upstream of a particularly fierce meteor storm, it is a miracle that we are capable of maintaining this state of cohesion. The further along we go, the greater discrepancy between the phantom fleet and that of Richter-Darcy’s. I closely watch as one after another drift off into a different trajectory towards a battlefield brimming with vibrant illuminations of destruction. The battle must be so close at hand that even stray missiles enter our path, either zipping past us or blasting chunks of meteors. On occasion, some Mafia ships are hit port-side, causing complications in the staggered formation we take.
A tap on the shoulder and my attention turns to a concerned Brutus stroking his chin. “Is something on your mind?” I ask calmly. Brutus exhales through his nose in response. He cranes his neck to glare at the strategic map.
“It hasn’t occurred to you that Richter is overeager in avenging Emmanuel? To be engaging the Fed lapdogs this early might expose our plan to encircle them?” Brutus muses as he continues to stroke his chin “perhaps you should’ve ordered Richter to exercise more caution, at least until our fleet is further out of harm’s way?” As he speaks, one of the countless stray missiles by chance obliterates a ship some kilometers ahead of us. TheCastelforte and accompanying ships carefully maneuver through the obstacles of metallic debris and chunks of burnt flesh.
I follow Brutus’s observation of the map and silently take the questions in. True, at a glance it does seem like Richter is zealously hammering the enemy. But I feel there is more to it than just that.
“Perhaps,” I answer in kind “but it could be that the Metropolitans are simply marching at a pace quicker than ours. The battlefield is shifting south—and as Olga surmised, they probably want to cooperate with the now-nonexistent mobile squadrons previously pursuing captain Emmanuel,” with my thumb I gently stroke my blemished cheek “unfortunately for me, I can’t have things always go my way. I am inclined to believe we are too close to Richter though—so with that said I want the fleet to steer out of the asteroid field,” when I finish Brutus gives me a raised brow.
“Out of the asteroid field? Our detectability will be higher once their signals pick up the Castelforte or the Hugh,” Brutus retorts.
“It’s better than being caught in the… for lack of a better word; crossfires. The longer we stick close to Richter, the more likely the Metropol ships will take notice of our presence and delegate more of their reserves for an invitation to dance,” I answer back “it’s better for Richter, too—since he will have more space to spread out and harass the enemy. Less chance of bumping into us and causing collateral damage. The Federation will be too preoccupied with Richter and Darcy to take notice of the Castelforte or theTaiga.” If I have to be honest, even I find the words a little bold. All it takes is one competent radar handler to report to a superior of his findings of bizarre blips straying from the skirmishing and the asteroid belt. All it takes is his superior to make a judgment call and pass on his findings, and so on. There is nothing more dangerous than the right set of men at the right time.
“But with no asteroids as defenses,” Brutus protests “we’ll be easy pickings once the Federation engages us.” I scoff and grimace a smile at Brutus.
“My, you aren’t convinced of our actions at Baltit? They may have the numbers and better cohesion here, but it all means nothing if their armament is powerless at close-range; that is something both fleets have in common. We wouldn’t have gotten this far if not for June Lee. If he hadn’t neutralized the Ruthenian elements, my successes so far would have been impossible otherwise,” I finish as I rest my back against the railing, arms crossed.
Brutus looks a little more convinced, but I imagine he remains skeptical. Truthfully, he has every right to be. What I am subjecting the fleet to is nothing short of a suicidal gambit. I suppose having a confidant giving his insight on things helps me look at decisions with another pair of eyes. As Simon or Olga might say; two heads are better than one.
“With that said,” I turn my back to Brutus as he speaks after heaving a sigh of disbelief “do you intend to heed Richter’s advice by taking out the supply column, or do you intend to focus on striking at the Trinidad? I think what I am trying to get at is this: do we head further into Rouen to find this mystical supply fleet, or do we focus our attention here, at the battle unfolding?”
“A valid question,” I reply laconically “I still do not know the location of the fleet… that is, if it has even set sail in the first place. But I imagine it must be nearby—the Federation has likely been engaging Jung Lee for at least a good couple of hours. They’re bound to get exhausted, and most importantly be running dry of ammunition,” I rub the scratchy texture of the poncho as I rack my brain for solutions.
“if I have to divide my force, and in the event its likely guarded… sending Olga and some spare ships would be the sufficient choice in that case. But I will have to wait and see. In the meantime, let the fleet know to continue cruising out of the battle zone and enter the corridor. I want any developments no matter how mundane reported to me,” I declare to Brutus. The oaf, left with nothing else to say, gives me a salute and jolts down the stairs.
With a sigh, I push myself away from the railing and stroll over to the comfort of my chair, nestling myself into it. I cross one leg over the other, and prop my head up with an arm. Just off to the Castelforte’s wayside the skirmish unfolds, whose resulting actions periodically bask the bridge room in the familiar orangish-yellow glow.
Given enough time, the phantom fleet slips out of harm’s way despite more of the Federation fleet shuffling squadrons around. Richter spreads himself out more, covering our advance with such sound execution that I find it hard to take in. Despite the asteroid belt’s harsh current and the enemy ships riding in between them, Richter is more than capable of stalling the Metropol advance. Everything about this situation has been a breeze. It’s all a little too good to be true.
Yes, these developments are too good to be true. I hunch forward, hands propping my chin up, pondering how this situation could go awry. The longer I glare into the center of the strategic map and all the virtual blocks inching in several directions, the more I find the developments nerve-racking. I would even go as far as to say a sense of discomfort; as if sitting above an enormous pot of boiling water awaiting certain death.
Jung Lee’s formations are getting hit, and they are getting hit hard. That much is certain. However, his and the adjacent formations held by my father are bracing themselves all the same. When my eyes dart south, Darcy’s formations—as well as the dummy ships—proceed upward to establish the battle-lines with Jung and the Don’s ships—or it would be reasonable to say they more or less have linked up already. Though the nature of the Mafia ships adjoining is increasingly strained by a salient that the Federation forms in one particular spacial zone. If Jung or even Darcy is capable of collaborating with the other at this point, they might be able to seal the salient opening and form an encirclement.
But for that, it would mean drawing more ships from other spaces in the dwindling lines, thereby weakening it for one diminishing gain. As it stands now the whole idea is nothing short of wishful thinking. As I massage my scarred cheek, I can only curse myself for not lending more ships to Richter. Perhaps Darcy can use the dummy ships to complete the encirclement or even have them ‘reinforce’ gaps in the line would be sufficient enough to fool the Federation.
But in either case, managing them in this storm is dreadful. Truth be told, I never took into account the forecast when using them initially. Since they’re almost entirely remote-controlled I imagine it must be difficult handling them with visibility in mind. I have to give props to where they’re due, rather that is Jung Lee or even Darcy.
The bulging salient aside, the Federation continues to organically flow southward and put continuous pressure on the newfound pirate ships. But something feels off—but what? I quietly get to my feet and head over to the railing to cross my arms. From below, Brutus and several technicians look up at me from a nearby console. The grizzly Brutus raises a brow and glances behind him at the strategic map on the mainframe computer.
As our formation strays further away from both the expanding battle-lines and the asteroid shower, we face almost no detection. No stray missiles no longer hit our herd of ships. No noticeable differences in Metropol squadrons scrambling to intercept us—interestingly, the Metropolitans are not as keen as executing a maneuver similar to what I’m undertaking—a detour outside of the asteroid field and increase the width of their battle-lines. If they were to mirror my tactic here in the south rather than attempt to push further into the asteroid belt and endure senseless losses, then this battle would be over before it has even begun.
I tap my arms in bafflement; what exactly is the Metropol headquarters hoping to achieve? If I did not know any better it would seem they want to make this harder for themselves. What irritates me, even more, is they are too fixated on the salient. From the looks of things, they are regrouping to form a breakthrough into it. Which seems like a reasonable thing to do, however…
Glancing at behind their lines, it would seem they are overcommitting to the salient: why? Are they too far gone in their height of confidence that they believe their flanks aren’t vulnerable?
Hmmm. While stroking my chin, I pace around the deck as I continue to observe the unfolding battle. Come to think of it, the Metropolitan response to the arrival of my fleet has been nothing short of lackluster. I could owe it to the fact that I managed to annihilate the southern element before it could give warning to the main fleet, but even that aside the front-line Metropolitan ship captains seem unfazed regarding the fact they are essentially facing new combatants. Perhaps radar signals and poor visibility make it difficult to assess that reinforcements have arrived?
If that were the case… the ships not engaged in combat, like those acting as screens for the Trinidad would have taken notice of the developments unfolding at the front. And from there the Trinidad would’ve adapted to the newfound development. But so far, it doesn’t seem like it has played out that way. The only reasoning I could give is that Darcy and Richter’s formations are to an extent camouflaged by the dummy fleet, and have not simply picked up the cue that the formation they’re fighting has been reinforced or that their southern element has been all but destroyed.
You would think even the Trinidad and her screen would take notice of all of these shifts in development, and perhaps even realize that a few unidentified signatures creeping past their rear. Either there is a helpless amount of sheer incompetence, or Jung’s sortie on the Trinidad proved to be far more of a critical strike than I’m led to believe. Perhaps there is just so much communication jamming going on that nobody is capable of making sense of the situation.
If it were all this easy, then should I just reconsider capitalizing on this window of opportunity instead of pursuing a supply fleet that may or may not come? With the firepower at my immediate disposal and the real lack of a response from the Metropol headquarters, a clean shot at the Trinidadshould not be out of the question. From there I can seek out local flagships and throw the rest of the armada into disarray—a rout, even.
It cannot be that easy—but it certainly feels like it. As I release a troubled sigh, I look out the windows towards the thundering lights unfolding in the cosmic shower so many kilometers away. If Victoria was stationed in this fleet, would she persuade her superiors to avoid this increasing quagmire and withdrawal from Toscana? Failing that, would she plead for her superiors to consider the phantom fleet cruising past the asteroid shower—upstream?
As I dwell on it more I make my way back to the half-wall railing and lean on it. And it’s only then I take notice of Brutus trying to get my attention. He stands over the radar station and gestures for me to come. I waste no time in speeding down the stairway and joining the trio at the console station.
“Has there been any noticeable movement from the Metropol fleet?” I ask concernedly glancing between the radar console screen and the strategic overlay map. There isn’t anything that stands out to me other than the slowly creeping shrink of Jung Lee’s formation, and Richter-Darcy doing what they can to compensate for their positions.
“A considerably… large fleet… approaches… from the corridor,” one of the radar duo tersely states. I rub my temple and glare at the other one who assists in operating it. As if on cue he straightens up and clears his throat.
“It is as Bowen says, Madame —though when he says considerably, it seems to be fairly larger than our own,” the other one says calmly. He proceeds with inputting commands into the console and exemplifies the strategic map view of this new opposition emerging from the corridor.
“Could this be the supply fleet?” I ask laconically while crossing my arms “such a large-looking force… I suppose there’s still a possibility of them having escorts. But given that the Federation armada has more or less lowered its guard, perhaps they might not see a need for one?” The unidentified Federation fleet marches slowly to the asteroid field—I’d have to wager they’re still over a thousand kilometers away from us or so.
If we attack it now—assuming it is the auxiliary fleet I am looking for—the Metropolitans superiority in numbers won’t mean much if they waste all their ammo reserves. Not that our men must be faring any better with munitions, though. Give or set a few more hours of thorough firefights and out of all the Mafia ships committed to the battle, only my fleet will have the capability to sustain any more combat. Jung Lee and my father must be scraping the barrel by now.
I turn to face Brutus and the others. “At this range, do you believe it’s possible to get a glimpse of them with cameras?” I ask Brutus in particular. The man frowns, looking over his shoulder at the rest of the bridge before gesturing for me to join him. After we excuse ourselves from the radar duo, we make our way to another console station and instruct the operator to put the looming threat on display.
And what we see imposed over the mainframe monitor only makes me cut a sigh of relief. A whole herd of tan, oversized monstrosities that I’ve come to know over the past few years in Ruthenia and Merica; Federal auxiliary ships. The very size of them is at least two to three times the size of even the largest battleship that either the Metropolitans or even the colonial navies in Ruthenia have fielded. Supposedly, they love cramming so much matériel into these titanic ships to avoid multiple trips and accommodate more supplies for fleets in action.
I don’t understand the mentality of a shipwright’s delusion versus the reality out in the unforgiving cosmic seas. I cannot help but feel sorry for them, not knowing their hard work is spent squandered by fools at the helm acting none the wiser. If only they knew what would become of months of hard, honest work.
On either side of the supply convoy are a mixture of Ruthenian and Metropol ships. In front, there is more Federal than there colonial, however. All in all, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of escorts from what I can tell on-screen. Could there be more in the back, perhaps? Or are the rear-guard personnel underestimating the situation even more so than their comrades at the front? Though, to be fair it’s something that I’ll give them some credit for; from their point of view, they can seemingly relax because they don’t see us yet and the front-lines are turning increasingly lopsided. The salient in particular has gotten so big that it is just a few steps away from being a full breakthrough. At this rate, all the Mafia ships will be pushed out of the asteroid belt.
To ignore this supply division and turn around to strike at the Trinidad, or use what available time I have to destroy the armada’s resupply shipment. Even if we lose cohesion in the asteroid belt, so long as we retreat to the nearest Cluster Lagrange point, we can refuel, rearm, and bide time. The Federation on the other hand will have no choice but to withdrawal across Rouen to replenish. If all turns out well they might abandon their little endeavor altogether.
Is it a risk I am willing to take? I look up at Brutus, who meets eyes after staring at the monitor for so long. “Madame…?” He asks rather uncomfortably.
“Brutus, I’d like your input; should I commit all we have here to eliminate the supply and its escorts, or do you think I should turn around and join the fray?” When I finish, he looks rather surprised but recomposes himself.
“Judging from the number of ships, I think it would be beneficial to—” Brutus doesn’t get to finish, as someone calls my name from behind. Reeling around, it is the sleazy looking Bowen.
“Several Federation… squadrons rapidly approaching… from behind,” Bowen states curtly. Behind Bowen, his partner catches up to the group.
“A trap, perhaps?” I surmise as I caress my nose bridge “no, it could just be a mere coincidence to supply the auxiliary fleet with additional escorts?” I shoot a glance at Bowen’s aide, who flinches in place.
“Erm, you see… Bowen overstated the strength of it by a few notches,” he states apologetically as he nudges Bowen between the ribs “I’d reckon it’s no less than a standard Fed squadron,” the man finishes as I cross my arms.
“Clyde… I believe it was?” I ask warmly to the radar man’s continued discomfort “might I ask where Bowen here gets the idea of ‘several’?” For someone that Simon vouched is one of the best technicians we have with radar systems, Bowen is getting on my nerves with his wild assumptions. Clyde rubs his temple and opens his mouth. He is, however, cut off by the retorting Bowen.
“Signatures… of Ruthenian warships… most likely stragglers from other units… reinforcing the Federation… element,” Bowen discloses with a sincere smile. It impresses me that he remains unfazed despite me—for lack of a better word— putting the heat on Clyde.
“It is as he says,” Clyde says sagging his shoulders “from the looks of things they don’t seem to be entering the usual combat formations, so they may be doing what you surmised; a precautionary move to avoid a raid on their merchant ships,” when Clyde finishes, Brutus clears his throat indicating his turn to speak.
“It’s only a matter of time before the Feds do realize what is going on,” Brutus excuses the two of us as we make our way to the communications station “and we face an immediate two-front battle if we don’t at least sink the approaching merchant fleet.”
“And I suppose you’re suggesting that I send a detachment to the Rouen auxiliary fleet and intercept the sortie squadron unknowingly pursuing us?”
“It would be too risky to do anything else,” Brutus replies and the two of us look up at the strategic map. Both Metropol formations are still thousands of kilometers apart, with the convoy one being the nearest to us by at least a thousand or even less. Neither would be able to support the other at this time. With the likelihood of the supply escorts being limited in number, it’s very well likely I won’t need to detach much of my own on top of having the initiative.
“To be graced with the initiative… hm,” I muse “it’s interesting to see that the Ruthenians haven’t committed more of themselves into the fray,” I grimace remembering the metallic carcasses we cruised by as we entered the star zone “and it’s most unfortunate Jung Lee was not capable of eliminating the whole force. But all things considered, it does appear there’s barely enough of them to warrant a full-strength squadron which I reason they’re grouping it with a Metropolitan one. And if the wayward colonial remains have been any indication, I can only imagine the lack of cooperation with each other.
“That aside… open a transmission to Sergi and Olga,” I finish saying to the console’s operator. While I wait for us to get patched through, Brutus appears to be in contemplation.
“I take it you have decided on the course of action?” Brutus asks. Just as Olga and the gruff Sergi appear on the screen, I give Brutus a brief nod and get the duo up to date on the situation.
“With that in mind,” I begin “I deem it will be necessary having the Taigaengage and sink the supply ships,” Olga instinctively nods with a sly smile and those beady eyes of hers “this is to ensure that we can maintain the element of surprise until the very last second; to deceive them into believing it is a part of the augmented detachment.” Although Brutus and Olga look convinced of the plan, Sergi on the other hand seems dubious of it.
“The Ruthenians…” he mulls “do you believe they will believe it for a second of a Federation ship fast approaching while trailed by phantom units?” Sergi questions as he scratches his chin in contemplation. It’s a fair point, I’ll admit. It’s no secret that the colonists have a natural distrust of the Terranoids. They might get too conspicuous and accidentally exchangefriendly-fire.
Frankly, I do not argue. If the Ruthenians are trigger-happy, then there is no helping it. Regardless, if I give Olga just enough ships it won’t be a problem in delivering a swift blow before it becomes a prolonged battle here. “You should simply have faith in Olga,” I reply looking at the duo on-screen “all the pieces are in place for a sound tactical victory here. Sergi, we will reel around and march back to the battlefield while Olga wraps up business here.”
“Just one more thing, Li,” Sergi says squinting off-screen “is it necessary to destroy the supplies—and not capture them for our use?” It’s a question that makes everyone pause to think and then shift their attention to me.
“I think you make a point,” I reply coolly “Jung Lee’s formation must be on their last rounds by now. So ideally, if I had the ships and time to spare, we could transfer it to their positions… but it’s nothing less than wishful thinking—fantasy even. Even denying the Metropol armada their resupply won’t accomplish much other than delay the inevitable. Even if all their front-line ships are depleted of ammunition, they can always rely on their reserves to deliver the decisive blow.
“I have hope that I may be wrong; perhaps the Metropol armada may also find itself empty-handed in fuel and rations… no matter the case and as grim as our situation may be—I have limited choices; namely incapacitating their high command before the Federation is able to adapt to their exposed rear. If all goes well, I’ll accomplish it before they’re capable of bearing down on us with all their might.” When I finish, the others seem to understand and only give melancholic nods.
“I guess it just can’t be helped then,” Sergi cuts loose a sigh and nods again “I will direct my men to turn around and take the lead…” the gruff man looks off to the side at the blonde’s screen “Olga—I wish you the best of luck. Please take care,” Sergi remarks before Olga can react. But she recomposed herself and smiles meekly at me with lively eyes.
“As Sergi said…” I say hearty “—please promise me you won’t do anything too rash, Olga. Promise me you’ll come back in one piece… I don’t want to have to regret this decision.”
“I won’t fail you, Madame,” Olga replies cordially “I will deal with the auxiliary fleet speedily and join you in the fray before it causes you to worry” Olga pats her chest with a fist “I swear on it.”
Bearing the grueling pain, I crack a grin and slam a fist to my chest; gripping it tightly. “Normally I’d be irritated of you calling me by that dreadful name—but just this once I’ll let it slide, Olga… from the bottom of my heart; take care,” and with that last gleaming smile of Olga, the signal ends. With a mountainous sigh, I turn my attention to Brutus and the communications handler. “Now then, inform some of the ship captains they will be staying behind with the Taiga. The others will turn-face and follow the Hugh’s warpath.
“This battle, I reckon, has entered its finals stages. And whoever wins, the seas of Rouen will flow red regardless of the victor.”
