June 12, 1639

Rodenius Sea

 

It was a nightmare born from the darkest eras of humanity, reminiscent of the horrors to come should the Ancient Sorcerous Empire ever return. The sheer disparity between the enemy fleet and his own was made clear just moments ago. With his own eyes, Sharkun witnessed the destruction of his vessels, one by one as the enemy fleet fired their magical cannons. 

 

Each thunderous boom signified the complete annihilation of one of his ships — inconceivable considering Louria’s level of technology. Certainly, ballistae can damage ships, flaming arrows can sometimes set ships ablaze, and the cannons he’s heard of can create holes along ship hulls. These attacks, however, totally obliterated his vessels, pulverizing their hulls and sending their sailors flying into the air along with bits of debris. What was even more incredulous was their accuracy and range: each time the enemy ships ‘opened fire’, as the enemy had warned, a ship would be hit. All he could hear were deafening cracks as wood snapped and sailors died, and all he could see was a torrential blizzard of wood and gore.

 

The enemy ships stopped after 10 salvos. 50 of his vessels were destroyed in short succession. Now, after the slaughter, he watched the enemy fleet in reflection, wondering if he should have heeded their warning. Even if he had, he would’ve lost the loyalty of his crew and his job, perhaps even his life. This outcome was something no one could ever have expected; the difference in power seemed to be greater than if he had fought with the Parpaldian Navy. 

 

Analyzing the results of the engagement, he talked to his flagship’s captain. “They seem to have ceased their attack… could they have run out of magical power?”

 

“I have never seen magical attacks conducted on this scale, but I would agree with your assumption, Admiral Sharkun,” the captain replied. 

 

“Then, while they are busy regenerating their mana stores, we can conduct a combined assault! Captain, have your communication mages relay my request to Wyvern Command. The enemy has cannons, but no wyverns. They will crumble under an aerial assault!”

 

“It shall be done, Admiral.”

 

——

 

Jin Hark, Wyvern Command

 

“... lost 50 of our vessels to their magical attacks!”

 

General Patagene listened to the short report of the skirmish and the subsequent request for air support. “Hmm,” he mused, looking at the wyverns below the control tower as he contemplated strategy. 

 

“How shall we fulfill their request, General?” the communications mage asked. 

 

After a moment of silence, General Patagene unveiled his decision. “Send 250.”

 

The communications mage’s eyes widened. “T-two hundred fifty, sir? Are you certain?”

 

“Of course! Based on the descriptions provided by our fleet, this standoff will likely turn into a decisive naval battle. If we crush the enemy fleet now, with all of our might, then we shan’t fear any more obstacles impeding our conquest of Rodenius. Send 250.”

 

The mage bowed. “Yes, sir.” He conveyed the orders to the wyvern knights below and informed the Lourian Eastern Subjugation Navy of their incoming reinforcements, much to their delight. 

 

With the order to launch given, pairs of wyverns began to take off from the base’s runways, loitering in the air until the entire group was ready to go. General Patagene observed the flock above him: a mighty force that gave him goosebumps. “Such a concentration of power!” 

 

Citizens and soldiers alike watched the spectacle above, cheering as the force ventured eastward to support their brethren upon the high seas. 

 

——

 

Rodenius Sea, United States Seventh Fleet

 

Admiral Hawthorne faced a screen as he communicated with President Lee and several officers from the Pentagon. Outside the bridge, Super Hornets were being prepared for deployment.  “I understand. Are you sure you want to do this, Mister President?”

 

President Lee nodded his head. “It would simply be too risky to allow their fleet to remain unchecked. General Edwards?”

 

A general from the Pentagon appeared on screen. “Recent information suggests that the Lourian Navy is actually specialized in close quarters combat; their naval tactics primarily involve the boarding and capture of enemy vessels. While this poses no threat to our vessels, their manpower and close-quarters effectiveness may prove an issue should they rejoin the Lourian ranks and conduct guerilla warfare against us.”

 

“Thank you, General Edwards. I also think it is best to assert our technological superiority over the natives. Now, I’m not saying we should conquer them all and force them to submit by threatening them, but knowledge of what we’ve done to Louria will certainly help diplomatic agreements and trade deals moving forward.”

 

Admiral Hawthorne nodded. “That’s reasonable, sir.”

 

Before Hawthorne could get any more words in, President Lee interjected, “Make sure the enemy knows that surrender is an option. It’ll put a strain on our logistics to house and feed them, but I can probably work something out with the Qua Toynians. Now, it seems like we’re cutting it a bit late. Apologies for that, Admiral. Go and make Uncle Sam proud.”

 

Admiral Hawthorne saluted. “Yes, sir!”

 

The screen’s feed cut out and Hawthorne returned his attention to the incoming wyverns. “So,” he said, looking at the ship’s radar, “250 wyverns?”

 

Captain Vaughn nodded. “Correct, sir. Do we know anything about these creatures?”

 

Hawthorne shook his head. “I’m afraid we know the bare minimum. Their primary attack is a fireball, which is quite similar to a small napalm bomb. I don’t think it will pose a threat to our vessels, but I would like to remain cautious.”

 

Captain Vaughn nodded. “Understood, sir.”

 

“And… have the fleet move closer to Destroyer Squadron 15. The horizon in this world is what, like 50 miles?”

 

“About 50 kilometers, sir.”

 

“Ah,” Hawthorne said. “I’d like to time our appearance over the horizon and align it with the destruction of their Air Force. Is that possible?”

 

Captain Vaughn conducted some calculations in his head. “Comparing our maximum speed and the current heading of the fleet to that of the wyvern force — assuming their max speed is about 100 knots, no. They’ll arrive too quickly.”

 

“Unfortunate,” Hawthorne sighed. He paced around as he talked. “Once we make our entrance, regroup with Destroyer Squadron 15. For now, I’d like us to hold fire until we gauge the reaction of the natives. I hope they’re not impossibly stubborn.”

 

“Hell, even the Japs knew when to call it quits. Let’s see how much firepower it’ll take for these folks to call it quits,” Vaughn replied. 

 

——

 

Commander Harrison Richthofen hurried down the crowded walkways, making his way to the hangar. Most of the naval aviation crew similarly scrambled to reach their positions, since the admiral wanted a mass deployment of the fleet’s Super Hornets, along with a small detachment of F-35s. Richthofen himself was assigned to an F-35, which would be used to help coordinate targeting data and probe the enemy’s capabilities. 

 

He carried his helmet as he climbed up to the deck, running into someone analyzing a tablet as he turned a corner. 

 

“Watch it, son,” the man said. 

 

Richthofen looked up, his eyes widening in shock upon recognizing the man’s face. “Oh, Colonel! Sorry for that.”

 

“Well, I see the Silver Baron is in a hurry eh? Go on, have some fun while we sit back and do nothing on the ship…”

 

The marines aboard the Ronald Reagan were quite dismayed that they wouldn’t be able to participate in the upcoming battle; they were itching for combat. They were informed about the enemy tactic of boarding enemy vessels, but realistically, no one expected the enemy to be able to board the U.S. vessels. 

 

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find something to shoot at soon, sir,” Richthofen replied. 

 

“Heh, maybe if any of the hostiles try something stupid when they’re getting rescued, but I don’t think they’d be that dumb to fight back after watching their ships get blown apart,” he said. Looking toward the rushing personnel beside him, he continued, “I think I’ve taken up quite a bit of your time, Harry. Should probably get to your jet, flyboy.”

 

“Will do. See you around Henson,” Richthofen waved goodbye to the colonel. 

 

As he boarded his F-35 and began preflight checks, he muttered to himself, “Why ‘Silver Baron’? It’s not like it runs in the family…”

 

A voice interrupted his thoughts, coming out of nowhere as if it were his conscience. “Hell yeah it does, man. Your grand-grand daddy was a damn fine pilot, and you certainly live up to that legacy.”

 

“Lin? How the hell…”

 

“You were on the network, dude. I should tell you about that Lieutenant who was talking about one of the female officers, man. The guy thought he was on a private channel, but it turned out he was on the whole network.”

 

Richthofen hummed in response, although it was barely audible due to the sound of the engine running. “Noted. Alright, preflight checks complete,” he said as he followed the directions of the marshaller’s (man with the glowing sticks) lights. He positioned his plane along the runway, and once the marshaller gave the signal, Richthofen took off. 

 

He soared into the air, closely followed by his wingman, Commander Lin. Above the carrier, dozens of Super Hornets loitered around, circling the fleet like a flock of vultures. They were waiting for the rest of the Super Hornets to be deployed in order to launch a joint strike on the incoming wyverns. 

 

The Silver Baron and his wingman flew ahead, climbing up as they approached the wyverns. To alleviate one of the admiral’s concerns, they were ordered to test the capabilities of the wyverns and collect targeting data, to be relayed back to the fleet. At an altitude of nearly 10,000 feet, they were virtually undetectable by the wyverns below. The F-35s trailed the hostile bandits, moving like phantoms. 

 

The wyverns exhibited no change in course; they did not notice the arbiters of death right above them. While it was assumed that the Lourians had no form of radar, American military officials still wanted to confirm this. After collecting the necessary data, Richthofen and Lin returned to the main formation of Super Hornets. 

 

——

 

Admiral Sharkun felt a sense of uneasiness suddenly wash over him. He looked over to one of the ship’s communications mages. “Update?”

 

The mage replied, “Sir, 250 wyverns have appeared over the horizon and will reach us in less than half an hour.”

 

Sharkun sighed in relief. “250 wyverns, that is a force to be reckoned with.” His lips curved up into a smile. “Once they arrive, we will initiate a coordinated strike upon the enemy vessels! Such a massive combined assault: naval and aerial; those 5 ships will not stand a chance!” Sharkun almost laughed at the overwhelming difference.

 

His laughter was cut short when someone on the bridge suddenly exclaimed, “Dozens of enemy flyers sighted! Distance, 50 kilometers! Over the horizon, right behind the enemy fleet!”

 

Sharkun used his telescope to analyze the enemy flyers. Curiously, they were not wyverns; they were clearly artificial. Sharkun frowned at the sight, his earlier sense of uneasiness returning. “What in the world are those?”

 

The speed of the enemy aircraft was mind boggling. Barely a minute passed by and the aircraft were already above the enemy fleet. To Sharkun, this was a grave realization. To traverse the distance between the horizon and the enemy fleet, the enemy aircraft must have been traveling at thousands of kilometers per hour. Before Sharkun could even react to this realization, he saw numerous objects fly away from the wings of the enemy aircraft. 

 

The arrows of light streaked toward the Lourian wyverns, leaving a trail of smoke in their wake. The enemy aircraft banked upward, ascending almost vertically, at incredible speeds until they vanished from view. Sharkun watched the arrows of light carefully, sweat trickling down his back as he considered his options.

 

“Have the wyverns engage evasive maneuvers!” He instinctively blurted out. 

 

With severe apprehension, he watched the Lourian wyverns break formation, flying erratically as they attempted to evade the incoming projectiles. Adding to his dread, he watched the projectiles correct their trajectory in order to follow the evading wyverns. “No… no…” he muttered in shock. 

 

His ship’s manacomms flared to life, the manawaves cluttered with the fearful callouts of his reinforcements. 

 

“Shit, they’re following us! Left! Left!”

 

“Get to the water!” 

 

“No! Keep ascending!”

 

A flurry of voices called out, hoping to coordinate a successful evasion. With numerous blinding flashes of light, the swarm of voices suddenly ceased. The enemy projectiles made contact with the Lourian wyverns, engulfing them in fiery explosions. 

 

Explosions continued to appear as his nation’s great Air Force met their bitter end. He watched a wyvern knight try to execute an incredibly skillful banking maneuver, only for the enemy projectile to follow it. Years of training and experience was lost in the blink of an eye. Another wyvern knight tried to lead his men upward, crossing paths in order to confuse the projectiles, but this attempt was in vain. They were subsequently annihilated, releasing a gory shower of wyvern guts and pieces of metal. One of the wyvern knights attempted to dive into the water, but the unwavering predator chased it relentlessly, detonating and sending a red-dyed column of water into the air. 

 

Silence filled the air, disturbed only by the sounds of explosions and screams. The scene before him was unimaginable. Even against one of the great superpowers of the Three Civilized Regions, their force of wyverns could not be whittled down so easily. From the initial force of 250, just under a hundred remained. Each enemy projectile found their mark, instantly killing their targets. 

 

Sharkun walked along the deck of his flagship as blood rained upon the fleet, painting the brown decks and the white sails red. He felt something wet hit his hand and he looked down. “Is this the blood of a wyvern, or the blood of a man?” He asked himself, clenching his fist. Rage clouded his vision. “No… this is the blood of Louria, and we must draw blood in kind, to avenge the fallen! All vessels: begin the assault! Charge at the enemies!”

 

——

 

USS Barry

 

Captain Winslow whistled as he watched the Lourian wyverns fall out of the sky. “Well hot damn, that right there is American military spending put to work.” He looked toward the UAVs circling the battlefield. “Wonder if they’re recording it…”

 

His thoughts were interrupted by a communications officer. “Sir, the squadrons have completed their attack run and are out of air-to-air. They’re going to circle back around for anti-ship combat once we’ve taken care of the stragglers.”

 

Winslow chuckled. “Alright then, let’s put on a show.”

 

Winslow’s gaze returned to the skies, his hands clasped behind his back as his subordinates rushed around. 

 

“Targeting data received from Baron One, relaying to squadron network. Designating bandits one through sixteen for the USS Barry…” one of the operators said. “We’re ready to fire on your command, sir.”

 

Captain Winslow replied, “Good. Synchronize firing sequence with our friends,” he said.

 

The operator looked up and nodded. “Channels are open, sir.”

 

“Three, two, one, FIRE!”

 

——

 

Admiral Sharkun’s rage temporarily subsided, replaced with confusion as he watched the five metal ships suddenly engulf themselves in smoke. The smoke did not originate from the cannons, so he reasoned that it must have come from some sort of malfunction or accident. He stopped himself, seeing the error in this assumption: why would all five simultaneously experience a catastrophic accident? He then remembered the trail of smoke emitted by the light arrows from before, the ones that had easily annihilated over half of the Lourian wyverns. 

 

“No! Not again!”

 

Arrows of light screamed through the air, speeding toward the wyverns, who were diving toward the metal ships in an attack formation. Despite having only launched ten of these projectiles, their effectiveness was much more pronounced, thanks to the close attack formation of the wyverns. Clumped up together in order to land a barrage of fireballs, the wyverns and their knights had almost no time to react. 

 

Because they were so close together, each projectile obliterated several wyverns a piece. Their explosions were much more massive than the projectiles from earlier, Sharkun thought. Or perhaps it is because the wyverns are closer together? The difference mattered not, for the result was essentially the same. Bloody bits and pieces of limbs flew in every direction, splashing down into the ocean and giving the surface a reddish tint.

 

Some of the knights were either quick to react, or simply lucky. The force of a hundred wyvern knights was cut down to only five. In silent anticipation, Sharkun and his men watched the bravery of these survivors as they attempted to penetrate through the enemy’s defenses. One of the surviving knights was a close friend of his, a wyvern knight captain named Amalgeus. 

 

The courageous man’s voice echoed through the mana comms, “We are the chosen few! We survived the demonic onslaught, and we will be the ones to lay waste to the enemy!”

 

Cheers erupted from the other four wyvern knights, but were immediately terminated as five simultaneous explosions occurred. The five ships fired their cannons at the same time, taking out the descending wyverns with ease. 

 

“What the hell?” Sharkun asked in a dazed tone. His head was throbbing from the incredulous occurrence; he didn’t know if he was dreaming. 

 

“Sir, what should we do now?”

 

He looked for the source of this question: the captain of his flagship. “Maintain course and heading. We will continue charging at the enemy fleet and surround them! We will overwhelm them with our numbers!”

 

The captain frowned slightly. “It will be done, Admiral.”

 

Sharkun nodded solemnly, then analyzed the enemy ships. Their cannons had adjusted their aim, and were now facing his fleet. Sharkun closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The horrible sounds of shattering wood and screaming men returned.