Author’s Note:

Spent some time working on Flintarm and D’Arnell’s dialogue. Do you guys think its a bit cliche to have a Scottish sounding Mirishial dwarf and a posh British sounding Muan? How do you feel about these accents?

 

Author's Note 2: 

 

Manifest Fantasy manga/comic is now in the works! Still just setting up the foundation so it might take a while, but I think I've found an artist I can work with. Attached is an example (not related to any particular scene) of what the manga might look like if I continue working with this artist. Feel free to join the discord to stay tuned for updates! Early access content and drafts will be available exclusively for Patrons.

Read up to three weeks ahead! Chapters up to 187 are now out for corresponding Patreon tiers!

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/drdoritosmd 

Discord: https://discord.gg/wr2xexGJaD 

 

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January 25, 1641
Artticus Ocean
IGVN Second Conquest Fleet
Grade Atlastar-class Battleship GVS Laniakea

 

Fleet Admiral Falke Venstrom stood on the bridge, gaze fixed on the map sprawled across the table before him. The map, a carefully annotated representation of the ongoing battle, was updated continuously by the ship’s radio operators and intelligence officers. They were making progress, but not as much as he’d hoped. 

 

His brow furrowed as he studied the latest reports from the strike group he had deployed earlier. The Muans’ La Burke-class destroyers were proving a tougher challenge than anticipated, their advanced anti-aircraft capabilities taking a toll on his bomber squadrons. While the skill and determination of his pilots were unquestionable, Venstrom couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease at the higher-than-expected losses. If he had committed more units to the fight, he could’ve mitigated some of the losses. Well, it was too late for that. At the very least, the existing forces were still more than enough, and the gap between them and the EDI defenders would only grow as more La Burkes succumb to their assault.

 

The sounds of footsteps approaching drew his attention, and Venstrom turned to see a communications officer saluting sharply. "Fleet Admiral Venstrom, sir. Lieutenant Morric, communications, reporting."

 

Venstrom returned the salute. "At ease, Lieutenant. What do you have for me?"

 

"Sir, we've received a priority message from VB-30, one of the bomber squadrons. They've observed unusual activity within the enemy fleet."

 

"Go ahead, Lieutenant," Venstrom prompted, his interest piqued.

 

Lieutenant Morric consulted his notes before continuing. "VB-30 reports that a group of ships, including what they believe to be two Orichalcum-class battleships and a dozen destroyer and cruiser escorts, has broken formation and is advancing towards the Hel Reis battlegroup.”

 

The news gave Venstrom pause. The EDI battleships, with their heavy armor and powerful main guns, were designed for close-range engagements. While their missiles had considerable reach, the Pegasus and Cygnus-class carriers still outranged them. Their sudden advance suggested a potential shift in tactics, perhaps an attempt to draw his fleet into a more direct confrontation. The risk of exposing his carriers and other critical assets to the enemy battleships' firepower was not lost on him.

 

Venstrom turned to his intelligence officer. "Commander Eckhardt, I want a full analysis of the composition and capabilities of this advancing force. Coordinate with the air reconnaissance division and get me a detailed report, on the double."

 

"Aye, sir," Commander Eckhardt responded crisply, immediately setting to work.

 

Venstrom then addressed his operations officer. "Commander Neumark, signal all ships to maintain current positions and readiness levels. I want our strike groups to continue their attacks on the enemy fleet but to exercise caution and maintain a safe distance from those battleships."

 

"Yes, sir," Captain Neumark acknowledged, relaying the orders to the fleet.

 

As he waited for the intelligence report, Venstrom leaned over the tactical map, his mind working through the potential implications of the EDI's move. What could they possibly be hoping to achieve? The EDI was competent; they most certainly were aware of the fact that their ships couldn’t hope to catch up to any Gra Valkan vessel. More importantly, their commanders should know that sending them forward meant less air defense coverage. So, why? Why send their prized battleships on a suicide run to chase after an opponent faster than them and with more range than them?

 

Commander Eckhardt approached Venstrom, a stack of papers in hand. “Sir, the analysis you requested.”

 

Venstrom took the report, scanning the details quickly. His eyes narrowed as he studied the markers representing the EDI forces. Two Orichalcum-class battleships, six light cruisers, and a dozen destroyers, including two La Burkes. A formidable force, but not an insurmountable one, especially given the range at which his carriers could engage them.

 

As he studied the formation and composition of the enemy ships, a thought began to take shape in his mind. The EDI’s move seemed desperate – reckless, even. Was this just an attempt to resist, even when the very act was futile? He could respect that the EDI wouldn’t go down with a fight, but their actions truly just seemed like sacrificing the lives of their men for nothing. Yet, he knew that the EDI were no fools; they wouldn’t throw away their ships and crews for nothing. Going so far as to risk four of their most prized vessels, there had to be a purpose behind this advance, some strategic plan they hoped to achieve.

 

Suddenly, the realization dawned on him. This battlegroup was never meant to reach his forces at all. It was a sacrifice, a diversion meant to force distance between his carriers and their main fleet at Mykal. If lucky, they could engage in combat by a rash leader hoping to eliminate such prized assets. If not, then by pushing forward, the enemy perhaps hoped to buy time by forcing a temporary retreat.

 

Venstrom’s lips tightened into a thin line. It was a clever ploy, one that might have worked against a more impulsive commander. Though, as tantalizing as the offer of two Orichalcums and two La Burkes may seem, he was not one to be baited so easily.

 

He turned to Lieutenant Morric. “Signal the Hel Reis. All ships are to remain at a safe distance from the enemy battlegroup. If a reprieve for Mykal is what they seek, then we shall grant it at a steep cost. Have their bombers focus their attacks on the advancing battlegroup. Hammer them with everything they’ve got. We shall make the enemy pay for this gambit.”

“Aye, sir,” Morric responded, relaying the orders.

 

Venstrom returned his gaze to the map, watching as officers adjusted the icons and figures to reflect the shifting battlefield. Let the enemy ships continue their advance. It was only a matter of time before they were wiped out by his fleet’s airpower.

 

Though, despite his eagerness in seeing to their defeat, he couldn’t help but feel a grudging respect for his opponents. They were skilled and determined, willing to take bold risks in the face of overwhelming odds. Yet, boldness alone would not win this battle. There were no American units around them for almost two thousand miles. This gambit would no doubt buy some time, but did they really expect this battlegroup to last any more than a day?

 

As the first reports of successful strikes against the EDI battlegroup began to filter in, Venstrom allowed himself a small, grim smile. The enemy had played their hand, and he had countered it effectively. Now, it was his turn to dictate the flow of the battle, to press his advantage and push the enemy back on their heels.

 

– –

 

Mykal Naval Command Center, Mykal Port

 

Admiral Durvin Flintarm stood by the scrying chamber in the center of the room, spectating the ongoing battle that was displayed through the shimmering mist. Beside him, Admiral Corwin D’Arnell studied the scene intently, if not with a hint of surprise at the scrying mechanism. Flintarm raised an eyebrow at the man’s intrigue, feeling proud of the Muan’s shock. He gave a small smile. Even as allies, their rivalry was still ever present.

 

A Mirishial communications officer then approached them, saluting crisply. “Admirals. Updates from the forward engagement group.”

 

D’Arnell nodded. “Go on, Lieutenant.”

 

“Sirs, we’ve received a manacomm transmission from the Montpelier. They report significant damage to their gun turrets. The Bellerophon and Sinclair are attempting to provide support from their Stinger squadrons, but the Gra Valkan airstrikes are relentless.”

 

Flintarm nodded, acknowledging the update. "Aye, lad. Keep me informed o' any further developments."

 

As the lieutenant departed, D'Arnell turned to Flintarm, his expression grim. "I say, old chap, the forward engagement group appears to be in quite the sticky wicket. Do you suppose they'll be able to hold the line long enough?"

 

Flintarm considered the question, his eyes never leaving the scrying image. The forward engagement group, comprised of the Orichalcum-class battleships and their escorts, had been pushing ahead for hours, drawing the brunt of the Gra Valkan air power. It was a costly maneuver, but one that was necessary to alleviate the pressure on Mykal and the main EDI fleet.

 

"They've got tae," Flintarm replied, his voice gruff with determination. "We need 'em tae keep the Valkans occupied fer as long as possible. What's the status o' the Orichalcums?"

 

D'Arnell consulted a series of manacomm reports before responding. "The HMS Starlight is holding steady, but I'm afraid the HMS Eclipse seems to have taken a bit of a pounding. Multiple torpedo hits, reduced speed, and she's falling behind the formation, you see."

 

"Signal the Eclipse," Flintarm sighed. "Tell 'em tae focus on damage control an' tae fall back with the Montpelier. The Starlight will need tae close ranks with the rest o’ the battlegroup to continue the advance."

 

D'Arnell nodded, relaying the orders to the manacomm operators. The scrying chamber hummed with activity as officers and mages worked to maintain the magical connection and relay critical information to the fleet.

 

As the battle continued to unfold, Flintarm and D'Arnell monitored the stream of reports from manacomms and radio transmissions. It didn’t look good: numerous systems disabled, rising casualties, and a depletion of ammunition for their most valuable assets. Yet, despite the mounting losses, the forward engagement group pressed on, their resolve unwavering in the face of the Gra Valkan onslaught.

 

"I say, Flintarm, have a gander at that," D'Arnell said, pointing to a group of silhouettes near the edge of the scrying image. "Gra Valkan dive bombers, approaching from the north."

 

Flintarm squinted, studying the incoming aircraft. "Aye, an' it looks like they're targetin' the Starlight. Signal the escorts tae tighten their formation an' intensify their anti-aircraft fire."

 

D'Arnell relayed the orders, and the scrying image shifted as the EDI ships responded to the new threat. The dive bombers swooped in, several cut down my Stinger missiles and accurate flak as they released their payloads. The Starlight shuddered under the impact, but her hull held, the summoned ice shields and magically hardened armor absorbing the brunt of the damage.

 

"The Starlight reports minor damage to her superstructure, but she's still combat-effective," D'Arnell reported, a hint of relief in his voice.

 

Flintarm nodded, his eyes still fixed on the scrying image. The forward engagement group had been in constant combat for hours, enduring wave after wave of Gra Valkan air strikes. Now, they were exiting the range of support from coastal airfields, which meant an even more dire outlook. But even as the battle raged on, Flintarm knew that the forward engagement group's success would be measured not in ships destroyed or enemies vanquished, but in time – precious minutes and hours bought with the blood and sweat of brave Mirishial and Muan sailors.

Suddenly, a Muan radio operator approached the admirals, a message slip clutched in his hand. "Admiral D'Arnell, sir. Urgent communication from our scout ships."

 

D'Arnell took the message slip from the radio operator, his eyebrows raising as he scanned its contents. "I say, Flintarm, it appears our gambit is paying off. The scout ships report that the Gra Valkan fleet has halted its advance and is now retreating to maintain distance from our forward engagement group."

 

Flintarm turned to face D'Arnell, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Ye mean tae tell me that Venstrom's taken the bait? He's no longer pressin' the attack on Mykal?"

 

D'Arnell nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Precisely, old chap. The Gra Valkans have been forced to divert their attention to the battleships, buying us the precious time we so desperately needed."

 

Flintarm stroked his beard, his mind racing with the implications of this development. The forward engagement group had succeeded in their mission, drawing the enemy's fire and allowing the main EDI fleet to regroup and strengthen their defenses. Unfortunately, the cost had been high, with the Orichalcum-class battleships and their escorts suffering heavy damage and casualties.

"Those brave lads out there," Flintarm said, his voice rough with emotion. "They've given everythin' tae give us this chance. We cannae let their sacrifices be in vain."

 

D'Arnell placed a hand on Flintarm's shoulder, his expression one of grim determination. "And we shan't, my friend. We'll make every moment count, every second they've bought us with their blood and courage."

 

But would it be enough? The Gra Valkan fleet was pushed back for 50 miles so far and counting, but their forward engagement group had been whittled down to just over two-thirds of its initial composition. How many more miles could they push the enemy back? How much more time could they buy?

They needed a miracle, a deus ex machina that could turn the tide of the battle and give them the edge they so desperately needed. And as if in answer to their unspoken prayers, the Muan radio operator once again approached the admirals, a look of barely contained excitement on his face.

"Admiral D'Arnell, Admiral Flintarm. We've established a secure link with Admiral Locklear of the U.S. Fifth Fleet. He's standing by to speak with you."

 

D'Arnell and Flintarm exchanged a glance, a flicker of hope sparking in their eyes. "Put him through immediately," D'Arnell ordered.

 

The radio operator nodded, making a swift adjustment to the communication system. A moment later, a clear, confident voice filled the room.

 

"Admirals D'Arnell and Flintarm, this is Admiral Samuel Locklear, commanding officer of the United States Navy Fifth Fleet. Do you read me?"

 

Flintarm leaned forward, his heart pounding in his chest. "Aye, Admiral Locklear. We read ye loud an' clear."

 

Admiral Locklear wasted no time in delivering his message. "Gentlemen, I have an update on our operations. The Fifth Fleet is currently en route to Mykal and will be in a position to provide direct support within four hours. Additionally, we have launched a coordinated Tomahawk missile strike against the Gra Valkan fleet. These will be making contact with the Gra Valkan battlegroup you are currently engaging, and hopefully provide your forces some relief."