Cent. Calendar 26/01/1640, Royal Navy Headquarters, Le Brias, Altaras, 10:40
It was a chilly winter morning in late Jaisrak (Month 1) of the new year 1640. Altaras, located in a region with a sub-temperate climate, was assaulted by a cold front blowing in from the northeastern regions of Philades and the wastes of the northern continents beyond, but that was hardly enough to push the temperature below 15 degrees Celsius. But the cold wind blowing in from the northeast not only brought in an endless stream of low clouds that was screening the Altaran capital of Le Brias since the new year but also an unceasing feeling of apprehension to the hundreds of thousands of people on the ground.
It had already been more than a month since His Majesty, King Taara XIV, declared war on the Parpaldian Empire, yet other than an extensive draft that pulled thousands of able-bodied Altaran men from their families to be armed with rifles and sent to build fortifications all across the kingdom, not a single bullet has been fired over Le Brias since the war declaration. The initial intensity of the spirit of nationalism and the earnest desire to go to war had all but dissipated, replaced by the silence of city folk going by their lives with heads hung low underneath the watchful eye of the city's constabularies, supposedly there to keep track of 'dissenters' and 'traitors' but are now almost always sleeping on the duty. Other than the rising prices of goods brought about by the combined Muish-Mirishial enforcement of an exclusion zone around the island to discourage non-belligerent vessels from being fired upon, in addition to the round-the-clock evacuation of foreigners, which continues to this day, one would be forgiven to think that war had not been declared at all.
That impression was not limited to the masses—King Taara himself, the most powerful man in the kingdom and the person with the monopoly on all information, had now gotten the impression that a war was not being fought. Having grown impatient from there being no large-scale action since the initial spat at Messina, the reigning monarch had decided to pay a visit to the nexus of command of the Altaran force that is currently participating wholesale in the conflict: the Altarasi Kraliyet Donanmasi—or the Altaran Navy.
Stunned gazes and stammering mouths characterized much of Navy Command as they found their monarch, wearing full regalia and an unamused frown, standing in front of the opened doors of the command chamber.
"Y-Your Majesty?!"
The officers of the Navy, accompanied by some of the General Staff, collectively fumbled their speech as they hurriedly saluted their commander-in-chief. Having tirelessly monitored the situation while carrying out their mission of denying the enemy command of the seas, they were caught off guard by the king's untimely visit to the Royal Navy Headquarters.
"Gentlemen..."
Taara clapped his hands as he took in a heap of air. The commanders present curled their hands into fists underneath their sleeves, steeling themselves for the inevitable wrath that would come out of his mouth.
"It has been a month... Has the Parpaldian Navy ceased to exist yet?"
Taara calmly asked them, to which the commanders eyeballed one another, waiting for someone among them to answer the king. He was a lot calmer than they expected, but no one doubted the ridiculousness of his question. Knowing the king's temper, none of them wanted to be the poor bastard that would be slammed with a suspension for simply trying to answer his question truthfully. They all subtly turn their attention to the Navy Chief of Staff, Erdil Gucer Nizam, who they hoped would take the fall; Gucer Nizam, correctly sensing that the others had come to their consensus that he should be the one to answer His Majesty, sighed inwardly before addressing the king with a candid expression.
"I'm afraid that is not the case, Your Majesty. They are still very much a threat to the kingdom."
Taara scratched his head, but even to them, he was clearly holding back his temper.
"Alright, alright. Let's dial back the question: have we dealt them a blow powerful enough to force them on the defensive?"
Gucer Nizam promptly swayed his head from side to side.
"No, Your Majesty, it is just as we reported to you in our daily report yesterday morning: His Imperial Majesty's Navy still retains much of its strength and is actively spreading its forces out, presumably to prevent a decisive battle with our qualitatively superior task forces."
Taara's eyelids twitched, and his lips spasmed, details which everyone had by that point learned were signs of him going past his breaking point; sure enough, the long-awaited roar came surging from his mouth.
"And why is it still that way a month since Messina?!"
The king slammed his fist onto the brick wall of the chamber with enough force to crush some of the mortar into bits. Blood came gushing out of his fist, but the king was angered to the point he barely flinched in pain.
The chamber was frozen in shock, utterly afraid by the king's ruthless display of fury—even more so than they were concerned for his well-being in forcefully slamming his fist into what was essentially a stone-hard wall. Even Gucer Nizam couldn't help but quiver slightly at the sight.
"Your Majesty..."
Before the conversation could continue, the king suddenly leaned against the wall as his eyes, once bloodshot and filled with rage, began swelling with tears. He gripped the fist he had used to punch the wall and was on the verge of yelling in pain. At this point, everyone in the chamber scrambled to call for medical aid.
・・・
With the two separated by the Altaras Strait, it was a no-brainer to anyone, whether they be military men or uninvested civilian onlookers, that a scuffle between the Parpaldian Empire and the Kingdom of Altaras would inevitably involve their navies. If one wished to threaten an invasion of the other, they would have to first secure command of the seas, which would mean mauling or breaking the other's navy from posing a significant threat to a landing.
Both sides understood this, but due to varying circumstances, such as historical ties with the great powers, geographical position, immediate strategic necessities, and so on, Parpaldia and Altaras had developed their naval doctrines—as such, their naval forces—differently: the Altarans, thanks to their smaller population, necessity to secure their trade routes and greater wealth devoted to the navy, have a smaller navy and are leaning to a doctrine focused on decisive engagements, which is helped by their qualitatively superior vessels, a boon of their closer relationship with Mu and the Mirishials; the Parpaldians, owing to their history of continental expansion and greater population and resources, have a much larger navy, but have a significant share of it dedicated to riverine operations with the ocean-sailing fleets operating underneath a "fleet-in-being" doctrine. While the Altarans have better equipment, training, and experience (this will be Parpaldia's first major naval operation outside of riverine and coastal environments), the Parpaldians have the advantage in numbers and, as time goes on, resources, too.
Since the start of the war, they have been probing Parpaldian formations to try and force decisive engagements, but the Parpaldians knew better than to try and engage them in terms unfavorable to their own. This was also not helped by the fact that the Parpaldians enjoy a larger wyvern corps with better wyvern breeds for long endurance missions, which allows them a greater situational awareness; they also use their greater numbers and better-trained riders to actively harass Altaran recon wyverns, which are only numerous enough to deny the Parpaldians from getting too close to the Altaran mainland. However, situational awareness alone is not enough to offset their warships' better weaponry, which has proven their superiority in range and lethality in the few encounters between both navies.
Nevertheless, in this one long month of strategic impasse, their efforts to try and force a decisive engagement have been for naught, and the consequences of their limited potential to acquire and produce resources for the fight have begun to sting. This was likely why the king was furious; efforts to divert fuel, munitions, and spare parts to the navy were already put in place but there was only so much in storage before they completely ran out, leaving their powerful warships dead in the water. The status quo was ultimately against them, and they needed to do something soon to change it.
In the 30 minutes since the king was sent to the medical ward, the command chamber went back to their usual routine of monitoring developments, but the king decided to return, eager to personally do something about the 'lackluster' situation. The doors to the chamber opened, revealing a Taara, whose fist had been bandaged, escorted by nurses clad in black dresses. As soon as he sat down on a throne-like seat on one side of the room from where he could observe everyone doing their duties, the nurses left.
"Now, where were we..."
The commanders turned to salute him as soon as he made his presence known, steeling themselves for the inevitable thrashing they'll receive. But just as they were about to start talking, one of the manacomms present in the chamber started beeping incessantly, indicating that it was receiving an incoming message. The officer manning the manacomm ran over to the waiting commanders as soon as the message had been decrypted, bowed in the king's presence, and then read it aloud.
"Apologies, Your Majesty and Your Excellencies, but we've received an important message: At around 8:17 earlier, Squadron 2 had made contact with a Parpaldian squadron of three ships—two third rates and a protected cruiser. A firefight ensued for roughly 10 minutes, in which Squadron 2 confirmed one of the third rates incapacitated and the cruiser moderately damaged; in exchange, Squadron 2 suffered an estimated 50 casualties from a fire that broke out on the deck of the protected cruiser Ahirkli, which also damaged their manacomms, hence the message's late issuance. The Parpaldian squadron disengaged and left the scene; Squadron 2 did not give chase, citing fuel concerns as they were returning to port to refuel when contact was made."
The commanders scratched their heads as they turned to look at the map showing their navy's deployment spread out on the table in the middle of the chamber, confirming with the officer where the engagement had taken place. Amidst their discussion, the king clapped his hands, drawing their attention to him.
"Well, well, well! Is this not fortuitous?"
The king said with a mildly relieved expression strewn over his face, but the commanders, not knowing what he wanted to say, returned his expression with raised eyebrows.
"What are you looking at me all stumped for? Do you actually not know what this means?"
"I apologize, Your Majesty, but I don't—"
Before he could finish, Taara got up from his seat and walked towards the table to join them. Without uttering a single word, he picked up a couple of blue-colored wooden ship pieces placed on the map—they were meant to indicate Altaran warship deployments—and moved them towards a red-colored wooden ship piece that the commanders had recently placed after hearing of the message from Squadron 2. Once he was done, he turned to look at the navy commanders, expecting them to understand what he wanted to convey to them. After a couple more seconds of them staring blindly at the king, he groaned in frustration.
"Am I not wrong in hearing that a Parpaldian squadron was driven back with comparatively fewer casualties on our side?"
"You are correct, Your Majesty, but—"
"Then go after them! We could obviously destroy them with a squadron or two!"
The king scratched his head as he frustratingly pointed repeatedly towards the blue-colored wooden ships on the table, waving his fingers in between the blue and red pieces to emphasize his wish of getting the squadrons to annihilate the single damaged Parpaldian squadron. Having understood what the king wanted them to do but knowing that it was too risky of a move, Gucer Nizam interjected between Taara and the navy commanders to try and get him to see reason.
"With all due respect, Your Majesty, but—"
But Taara, whose twitching eyes told of the great wrath being restrained, held up his palm towards Gucer Nizam to silence him.
"It's been a month, Nizam. Where is my victory? Where is my proof that the Parpaldian Navy no longer holds a threat to us?"
He stepped towards Gucer Nizam as he stared down his eyes, barely composed and on the brink of being broken. He held his ground against the king, but he knew that the more he did so, the more it put him in his crosshairs. In any case, as much as he feared the king's tyrannical tendencies, his sky-high pride won't allow him to break in front of his subordinates.
"I have entrusted to you the duty of breaking Parpaldian maritime power from the onset of this war, but for this past month, I have heard next to nothing from you. I waited patiently, convincing myself that you were doing your best, but when I decided to come and visit this place after thinking that you were keeping information from me, here I learned that you have done something worse than that!"
He then turned to the navy commanders standing behind Gucer Nizam and the rest of the command staff trying to mind their business.
"You've been doing nothing but sit on your asses for the past month, gobbling up precious resources and funds by the minute while the inferior warships of the Parpaldian fleet roam our waters free unabated instead of populating the sea floor and being the food for the bottom feeders! Why do you allow the heathens that have slaughtered our heroes at Messina to run free?! Why are you denying them their well-deserved vengeance?!"
The king shouted and yelled more obscenities at them, but the navy commanders remained apologetically silent. But Taara was having none of that apologetic silence; he wanted results and fast.
He took a long wooden staff used for pointing to particulars in presentations and pointed their blunted end towards the navy commanders, casting upon them a murderous gaze.
"With the authority invested in me as your king, I'm temporarily overriding your command of the Navy to issue this one single order: get every squadron we can muster and smash that Parpaldian squadron!"
With a swivel of his arm, Taara swung the staff high into the air. Seeing the violence the king was about to inflict on them, the navy commanders froze on the spot, unable to move out of the way for fear of a worse punishment. But just as they closed their eyes, steeling themselves for the blood that will be shed...
Wham!
A loud thud from a powerful slam rang out, but none of the commanders felt any pain to their person. Meekly opening their eyes, still afraid of incoming pain, they found the long wooden staff broken in half: the end with the handle lying harmlessly on the floor with the other end punctured on the table with the map and strategic placements, like a bayonet forcefully stabbed onto a helpless person. The king, convinced that he had made his point, was already walking towards the room's exit.
Having recollected their wits, the navy commanders had only just the problems surrounding the king's words. His orders were too vague, and while they understood his intentions, it was a strategy that would have them gambling a significant portion of their navy. Unable to stomach the chances of such a risky gambit, the navy commanders cried out for their king.
"But, Your Maj—"
"My orders are crystal clear and absolute, gentlemen. I trust that you will not disappoint this time."
In a statement made with his back turned to them, Taara shot down their concerns, insisting that they carry out his orders to the letter.
Having finally left the room, the navy commanders turned to look at one another. None of them, not even Gucer Nizam, looked unfazed by the king's exercise of absolute power. There was much to deliberate regarding the feasibility and strategic soundness of His Majesty's orders, but the king's insistence on immediate results forced them to swallow these concerns. How risky this endeavor was was lost on no one, not even the other lower-ranking officers in the room. And if luck didn't favor them and they lose catastrophically, they can essentially kiss their careers—and, by extension, their lives—goodbye. With how lopsided the odds were stacked against them, it was essentially a lose-lose situation.
"Ngh... Curse the gods for our luck..."
Ultimately unable to find it in himself to defy the king's orders, the once strong-willed Gucer Nizam reluctantly decided to carry them out.
Krallık-class battleship Andras Kaymakk, somewhere in the Altaras Strait, 13:15
Somewhere in the Altaras Strait, a mere several dozen kilometers from sovereign Altaran territory, two metallic vessels plowed the moderately strong waves of the windy and turbulent midwinter seas. The two vessels, one of which was visibly larger, bristled with more armaments, and more technologically sophisticated, sailed side by side, maintaining their heading despite the relentless battering of the unruly ocean.
The smaller warship, the cruiser Saveh, was the lead ship of her class; the larger warship, the battleship Andras Kaymakk, was the most powerful warship in the Royal Altaran Navy, a title it shares with its sister in the same class, the Rahmi Kaymakk. Armed with four 343mm cannons in two dual mounts and capable of resisting hits from its own shells, it was a formidable vessel, unmatched even against its peers in the Parpaldian Navy.
Onboard the smoke-spewing warship, a characteristic telling of its origins as a Muish-built vessel, a communications officer manned one of the hulking manacomm machines inside the ship's communications room. While the manacomm was capable of long-range two-way speech communication, military modernization following the example of Mirishial and Muish standards stipulated the widespread use of military communications using creatively designed coded ciphers.
The officer monitored the channels for activity, waiting for a message to come through. Just then, the once silent channel was bristling with activity. A transmission was being received.
The officer, with pencil and paper in hand, started to write down the contents of the message as soon as he heard the familiar identification tag at the transmission's beginning. Deciphering the message almost as fast as he was hearing it, the script he produced quickly produced a legible message. By the time he heard the second identification tag that designated the transmission's end, he had in his hands orders from the Navy Command.
The officer quickly left his post with the orders in hand and made haste for the bridge. As soon as he stepped foot on the bridge, eyes from the officers, sailors, and the captain were already faced towards his direction, probably having heard the loud clanking of steel under his heavy footsteps.
"Captain!"
He exclaimed as he swiftly straightened his posture and fixed his right arm and hand into a salute. With his left hand, he handed the piece of paper to the captain as he added, "Orders from Navy Command!"
Binbasi (Captain) Matehan Bos spared no time taking the piece of paper from the officer, bringing it up to his bespectacled eyes, which still had some trouble with reading from afar.
It was a relatively short message, yet Bos spent a good five minutes staring at what amounted to only two simple sentences. He squinted his eyes at the piece of paper and kept checking the back side for additional information. He twirled his well-grown beard as he audibly hummed. It was almost as if he wasn't satisfied with the orders, or perhaps his wealth of experience already had him mentally calculating their strategy moving forward.
Just as everybody was about to grow tired of waiting for his response, his loud sigh struck the ears of everyone on the bridge, which was then followed by a series of concise orders delivered in a calm tone.
"Communications, inform the Rahmi Kaymakk that we're en route; signalman, tell the Saveh to follow our lead and maintain present formation. Set course for 29° 34' 12.92" North, 0° 28' 11.09" East."
The men whose responsibilities align with the captain's orders all promptly responded with "Aye, captain!" in acknowledgment. The vice-captain promptly set to work figuring out the bearing and distance to the coordinates given on the bridge's navigational chart. Almost immediately pinpointing the location the coordinates pointed to on a chart using the Le Brias Meridian, he grabbed a compass and pencil to figure out the missing values of the remaining variables. As he did so, he couldn't keep at bay the thoughts that circled in his head. His experience quelled this curiosity, using the several missions he had been on beforehand as proof that this was not out of the ordinary. Still, he felt that there was more to this than just the coordinates. After all, there was no harm in asking.
"29° 34' 12.92" North, 0° 28' 11.09" East... That's oddly specific from Naval Command for just a random patch of the strait."
The vice-captain directed the question to Bos, whose presence he could feel to his side, looming over the chart. The captain replied with a barely audible "Mhm," to which the vice-captain, still wanting answers, made more conversation.
"Got an important target, perhaps? What did the order say?"
A man of few words, Bos simply laid the piece of paper flat on the navigational chart for the vice-captain to read. His eyes dotted back and forth between the paper and the course he was preparing, juggling words and values as he processed them each; the course was almost done, but comprehending the thought process of the ones that issued the order was an unexpectedly more difficult task.
Proceed to 29° 34' 12.92" North, 0° 28' 11.09" East, and merge with Squadrons 1 through 12. Command of this new task force will be given to Mirliva (Vice Admiral) Iskann; details of the operation to follow.
There were no important targets for them to engage, only an order for their squadron to merge with several others to form a task force under Vice Admiral Iskann. What confused him and Bos was not just how vague the orders were but the scale of the task force being formed.
"What the hell? 'Squadrons 1 through 12'? That's essentially the entire navy!"
The vice-captain's tendency to loudly air his feelings got the entire bridge to glance his way, but their bewildered expressions were in response to the contents of the orders. Bos furrowed his eyebrows in mild agitation, yet he nonetheless entertained him.
"I don't understand it either. It is certainly a break from the strategy of Navy Command, which leads me to wonder if something had happened to push them to change."
Two ideas popped into their head: the logistical burden of an entire navy engaged in continued operations was starting to have an effect back home; the lack of significant results against the enemy had irked someone back home. While the first possibility was indeed imaginable, both Bos and the vice-captain had a gut feeling that the second was the truth, although neither was necessarily mutually exclusive. As much as they had a lot of reservations about the orders, they were in no position to question them, let alone disobey them.
Not long since the orders were given, the vice-captain had finished the course plan for their destination.
"Got it. Course 035."
Captain Bos promptly relayed the course to the helmsman. "Right standard rudder, steer course 035."
"Aye! Course 035." The helmsman repeated the course as was protocol and relayed this order through his muscles toward his hands, which were both on the ship's wheel.
The turning of the ship's wheel had an immediate effect: the Andras Kaymakk's right rudder turned starboard, forcing the hulking steel vessel on a slight turn to the right; its maneuver was mirrored by the Saveh. The massive battleship, what would likely have been regarded as a "pre-dreadnought" by Earth standards, listed slightly to port thanks to inertia as it executed its turn. While its lookouts constantly watched the skies for enemy wyvern patrols, the battleship and cruiser pair steamed steadily toward their uncertain mission.
Krallık-class battleship Andras Kaymakk, 29° 34' 12.92" North, 0° 28' 11.09" East (roughly 100km southwest of Menda Point), 16:30
A mix of warm, soothing orange and powerful magenta colors painted the late afternoon skies in this empty patch of the sea as the sun was well on its way beneath the horizon to the far west. There were no clouds in the vicinity, a far cry from the conditions not long ago, and an intermittent yet weak wind blew to the west. In this random part of the Altaras Strait, a rather conspicuous gathering of forces—one that is unimaginably powerful, especially this far east—was occurring.
The gigantic hulking steel behemoths of the Royal Altaran Navy, the Andras Kaymakk and the Rahmi Kaymakk, dominated the scene with their formidable array of guns in full display, although they were not alone: the barbette ironclads Arirmuslu and Shubdere, sisters of the doomed Orhasli and Hudaden sunk in the Battle of Messina, added their own complement for show. The Saveh-class cruisers, of which there are only five and they all comprised the entirety of the cruiser designation for Altaras, were all in attendance as well; five older ironclads, consisting of a mix of central battery and broadside types, were present too.
But it wasn't these ships that made the bulk of the burgeoning task force: all around them were dozens upon dozens of wooden ships with their sails neatly furled away. Aging legacies of an era of naval warfare that the region (or at least its most powerful states) was slowly ditching, these rated ships still formed the bulk of the Altaran navy's roster and still fulfilled roles that were relevant to their needs. The necessity for a large force to defend the kingdom's extensive coastline and the competitive circumstances surrounding the procurement of Central and Muish Great War surplus meant that these older ships were still kept in service with varying success at attempts to modernize them. Some were up-gunned; some were up-armored; some received both but were worse off than if they only received one upgrade; some could even be considered bonafide ironclads, albeit of a cruder build than purpose-built ones.
Numbering a total of 59 warships in addition to 40 sloops of war and auxiliaries, it was perhaps the single largest naval force currently in operation in the Altaras Strait. But rather than send a massive, intimidating message to their northerly enemy, their concentration in one place had meaning... or not—it depends on whether you ask King Taara or his navy commanders. Although, if you asked the highest-ranking officers on this battlefield out at sea, they would probably say there is, but only because they feared undue danger to their person or close circle for the crime of challenging orders, especially if these were marked with the royal stamp.
On board the Andras Kaymakk, its officers and crew gathered on the deck on the fore port side. They formed a corridor that led and continued inside the ship with officers as this corridor's 'wall.' They stood perfectly still even as the intermittent wind blew on their full-dress uniforms. Their expressions were blank and mostly emotionless, and their eyes pointed forward, but their attention was focused on movement coming from a gangway that was fixed onto the rails. Then, a hand emerged, clinging onto the railing of the gangway; before long, another hand appeared and clung to the opposite railing. The distinct service cap of a flag officer was the next to appear, and then finally, the flag officer themselves in the Altaran Navy service dress. The officer, an aged man with a pronounced jawline and facial features that was a bit shorter in stature than most of the enlisted men lined up to welcome him, took to the gangway's last step before the deck. This man was none other than Mirliva (Vice Admiral) Iskann.
As soon as the vice admiral was in full view of the deck, the ship's vice-captain shouted at the top of his lungs.
"Mirliva on deck!"
At once and in simultaneous fashion, the crew of the Andras Kaymakk rendered their salutes to the vice admiral and the officers that accompanied him. Several sailors behind them blew their trumpets to a melodic tune that easily pierced the silent atmosphere, signaling the vice admiral's arrival and presence. The vice admiral stepped onto the battleship's wooden deck and returned the salutes of the honor guard receiving him, making his way down the corridor that they had arranged for him. It was a rather quick and simple ceremony, but it was still the best the crew of the Andras Kaymakk could give, given the remoteness of their current location.
Once the vice admiral entered the brightly lit interior of the battleship, he was greeted by the ship's captain, Matehan Bos, with a quick and proper salute.
"Mirliva."
The usually stoic-faced captain loosened his facial muscles, and his eyes appeared to glint in the incandescent glow of the interior lights when he greeted the vice admiral.
"Binbasi."
The vice admiral returned the prompt greeting, but his facial expression was a tad more relaxed than when he initially boarded the vessel.
"It is my pleasure to welcome you aboard the Andras Kaymakk, Mirliva."
Bos put his hand on his chest as he nodded his head slightly, the tone in his voice soft.
"No, no, no, Bos: the pleasure is mine."
Iskann let out a smile that stretched from ear to ear, which was difficult to spot from underneath his thick beard, something that wasn't an issue to someone who knew him well. Taking the smile, in addition to the vice admiral's dropping of rank formalities, as they were, Bos gestured to his senior officer toward the direction that he would accompany him.
"I will show you to your quarters."
Sensing that the captain wasn't reciprocating his familiar actions, Iskann chided him, "You need not be so stiff with me, Bos."
"Maybe once we're back on land."
Bos chuckled from underneath his breath, taking the vice admiral's chiding to effect, but he heard no reply. He glanced to his right, where Iskann walked alongside him, and saw the telltale signs of a disheartened man. What were just a minute ago, gleaming eyes filled with trust were replaced with ones of distraught. It didn't take long for him to pin this change in behavior on what he had just said about going back to land, a deduction that transported his thoughts to the order they had initially received from Navy Command.
The captain and the vice admiral walked through the long corridors of the battleship, passing by water-tight doors and flanked on all sides by steel walls. The ship's personnel, especially those that didn't join the welcome ceremony due to their duties being essential to the ship's most important functions, saluted the two officers when their paths crossed. After a couple of minutes of walking through the increasingly damp corridor, they finally reached a certain steel door not too different from the others that they had passed. Bos opened it and entered the room behind it: a spacious accommodation with decorated wooden walls, elaborate wall lighting fixtures, an office desk next to a comfortable-looking chair, and a neatly prepared bed with thick, padded pillows that were easily worth ten pillows of the quality distributed to the enlisted sailors. It was just about as damp as the corridor outside, and there didn't seem to be any climate control equipment, but other than that, it was the best quarters anyone could ask for on a warship.
"These will be your quarters."
Bos indicated, stating the obvious. Thankful for a myriad of reasons besides the welcome and the gesture, Iskann patted his taller friend on the arm.
"Thanks, Bos."
He could hear the honest gratitude in his voice, but the distressed look on the vice admiral's face was still there. Before he could ask him about it, the vice admiral chuckled.
"Heh, you know... This well-kept room reminds me of the accommodation on the Rahmi."
The vice admiral seemed to be referring to the Rahmi Kaymakk, the Andras Kaymakk's sister and an equally formidable battleship. There was a light tone to his voice when he started, but that quickly changed to a more heated tone.
"...or at least this is what the accommodations there should have been."
His voice has taken a raspy, coarse quality, sounding closer to an old man who was about to ramble about something. The vice admiral proceeded to walk toward the center of the room.
"When I was shown the room by that punk of a vice-captain, I was immediately greeted with the smell of tobacco. And what do you know? I spotted piles of ashes—"
He pointed to several spots in the room as he groaned, "There! And over there!" over and over. He then turned to face Bos and motioned his fingers to and from his mouth, mimicking the smoking of rolled tobacco leaves.
"And that's not all: not only did those idiots not know how to clean up after their mess, but they also didn't know how to handle munitions, even if they knew it'd kill them!"
Iskann started to talk about an incident from earlier this month.
"When we were back in Le Brias to resupply, the fucking dolts were smoking while handling the 343mm rounds! I had to take the burning rolls from their mouths myself and gave them and their officer a proper scolding!"
At this point, the vice admiral's face had reddened to the degree that it seemed like he was starting to sear all over.
Bos started to snicker. As much as he knew how detrimental to combat performance these mannerisms were, the case of the Rahmi's crew was not unique. The newest ships bought from the powers were hardly three years into their service with the navy and were all procured at the same time, presenting the navy with the dilemma of finding manpower to man these new ships. A portion of the officers on board these ships, including Bos and his vice-captain, were already long-time navy officers, but the bulk of the enlisted sailors on board both the Andras and Rahmi battleships in addition to the other bigger ships, were press-ganged into service. That, together with them only spending a couple of years in training and running a battleship combined, led to a pretty questionable outlook for their competence in battle. He couldn't even expect the most seasoned of officers, which had to immediately adapt to relatively more sophisticated equipment and weaponry in comparison to their previous stations, to be ironclad in their work given these circumstances.
"The orders were for me to remain on the Rahmi, but I petitioned them to allow me to switch flagships to the Andras, which..."
Just then, the vice admiral mentioned the orders, which Bos promptly picked up. Having been looking for a good opportunity to talk to the vice admiral, who was a long-time friend of his, about them, he quickly jumped on it and cut his rambling short.
"My apologies, but this has been bugging me for a while now. I'm not in a position to ask as a captain, but allow me this moment to talk to you as a friend: what were those orders?"
Bringing it up directly, he witnessed the distraught look return to Iskann's face. After exhaling deeply, the vice admiral's expression changed from one of anxiety to that of forlorn determination.
"This was supposed to be saved for the briefing, but I'll let you in on it early..."
The vice admiral told the captain about the orders, which were just about as frank and concise as the ones issued to him and the other squadron commanders. Navy Command, as per the orders of His Majesty, King Taara XIV, has ordered Squadrons 1 through 12, to be led by Mirliva (Vice Admiral) Iskann, to chase after a Parpaldian squadron, which is currently fleeing north after suffering extensive damage in an engagement with Squadron 2. After destroying this Parpaldian squadron, the new task force, to be named "Selma," is to attack and launch a company of marines on Menda Point, a Parpaldian-held string of islands roughly halfway between the Parpaldian Empire and the kingdom of Altaras, and take it for the King.
Bos's face, upon hearing this, visibly went pale as bulbs of sweat popped up all over his face. His thoughts immediately went to how they were at a disadvantage by forming a massive task force against the Parpaldians.
"We are superior to the Parpaldians ship for ship, but no matter how big of a force we assemble, the Parpaldians will always be able to assemble a bigger force. That is not even the biggest concern: the Parpaldians have a larger wyvern corps with better wyverns and riders! They have eyes all across the strait, all the time! I wouldn't be surprised if they've already caught wind of our amassing here!"
Worrying thoughts swirled into his head as every strategy he considered almost always ended with a high possibility of defeat. His head started to spin, which he tried to resolve by taking a seat on the bed and resting his head on his hands. As he was caught in the midst of this storm of anxieties, he felt the warm, friendly, reassuring touch of a palm on his left shoulder. He looked up to find a standing Iskann, still wearing that determined look on his face, but there were also some of the distressed feelings from earlier.
"Our strategy is not yours to worry over, Binbasi. What matters right now is that we have to fulfill our orders, for that is already set in stone."
There was a hint of forlornness in the vice admiral's voice when he uttered the latter sentence. This was not lost on Bos, and neither was the reason why. And he needed not to imagine: back at the hometown he and Iskann were from, they knew someone younger than them that entered the Altaran Royal Guard. He was clumsy and knew not how to care for himself, but he had a kind heart and the willingness to improve. He was posted at the Mausoleum of Yasmin, the big, flashy building at the Royal Palace complex in the middle of the capital that was dedicated to the king's departed wife. His orders were simple: stand guard without fail until relieved. Weeks into his assignment, Taara personally had him thrown into the prison at the Ahikhaya Fortress, the sea fort defending Le Brias's port. Apparently, he went away from his designated post when he had to save someone who fell while tending to the flowers on the mausoleum's upper floors. Unluckily for him, Taara was in the mausoleum to witness this act of 'insubordination.'
They knew all too well that the king was heartless, but he was only heartless when his word isn't upheld or followed. Unfortunately for them, his word was that they were to engage a Parpaldian squadron and fortified island garrison, with the high probability that the Parpaldian Navy was already well aware of their presence—and worse of all, their objective. The supposed near future of them seeing each other 'back on land' suddenly seemed so distant. So improbable.
But the vice admiral was right: there was no disobeying His Majesty's orders.
Carrying the accursed weight this knowledge wrought on his consciousness, Captain Bos excused himself to return to the bridge and leave Vice Admiral Iskann to his devices. As the sun drew closer to the horizon and the sky was further dyed a deeper red, the flag of the vice admiral was flown above the Andras Kaymakk, signaling to all—whether they be enemies or allies—that this Altaran battleship was to be the flagship of this newly formed task force.
Empereur-class battleship Carles Dídac Gallaire, somewhere in the Altaras Strait, 17:00
On the other side of the Altaras Strait, the upper half that was closer to the southern coast of the gigantic Philades continent, which formed the heartland of the powerful Parpaldian Empire, another massive force of ships had amassed. Unlike the Altaran task force far to the south, this group of ships was already moving; it was also growing as more and more ships sailed from all over to join the burgeoning fleet. There were a lot fewer sailships than the Altaran fleet, but there were a lot more of the bigger, more menacing capital ships—but they all seemed a tad less intimidating than their southern counterparts.
Adding to the miscellany of wooden and masted ships, broadside and turreted, and small and big guns was the mismatch of magic and non-magic propulsion systems. Some of the big battleships, which would classify as "pre-dreadnoughts" by Earth standards, spewed out columns of thick black smoke as they sailed, while some didn't. But despite this mishmash conglomeration of paradigms, they were all united by the banner of imperial red and gold that every ship flew atop their masts.
Consisting primarily of ships from the Parpaldian Imperial Navy's 1st Armee Corqueuxima, the formation with jurisdiction over the Altaras Straits, but also complemented with support ships and warships from the 2nd and 3rd, this recently formed Parpaldian task force steadily steamed under the rapidly darkening winter skies. Their destination had been clear from the start: Menda Point. Leading this heavily armed task force was a certain battleship located to the right of the ship that was positioned at the center of the formation. This battleship, armed with a main battery of four 279mm guns in dual mounts—one fore and one aft—and a blistering array of secondaries in casemate and deck mounts, was capable of withstanding dozens of hits from guns its own caliber. Given the honor to be named with the non-regnal name of an emperor, the Carles Dídac Gallaire was also given the honor to be considered the most powerful warship in the Parpaldian Imperial Navy.
The ship had been bought from scrapyards of the Leiforian Navy two years prior and delivered a year later. It was so new that its original Leiforian designation was still painted on the battleship's bow, one of a series of signs of a quick sale and transfer. This was also apparent inside, where many fixtures and equipment, ranging from something as unimportant as furnishings to important things such as fire fighting equipment and pipes, were in various states of disrepair and overuse. In the room used by the Deuxième imposrion (vice admiral), two of the seven light fixtures were still broken, having been due for replacements since the battleship had been bought but had never been fixed.
Bemoaning the lack of lighting since the two broken ones were near his desk, which also had no desk lamp, Deuxième imposrion (Vice Admiral) Pommerau tried to ignore this minor problem as he read through a piece of paper he was holding in his hands for the nth time. He murmured the words under his mustache repeatedly as if to find some hidden fault he had never noticed before.
"Intelligence suggests substantially large Altaran Navy force amassing north of Le Brias, with the last known heading reported to be consistent with Squadron 5's course. Regroup with Squadrons 6 through 24 at 30° 16' 5.92" North, 1° 19' 36.80" West, and proceed to Menda Point. Combat readiness is to be raised to Stage 2... Intelligence suggests substantially large Altaran Navy—"
These orders, which he received from the prefect command, were an enigma.
The squadrons indicated consisted of the Parpaldian Navy's most powerful warships and more. While the prospect of leading such a distinguished force made him nervous, the reasoning behind this drastic change of strategy, which had been to avoid protracted engagements and starve the Altaran navy and wyvern corps in attrition, was what concerned him. Putting all the Navy's eggs in one basket just seemed like a bad decision, but for Pommerau, an officer that had a penchant for doing things to the letter, he could only trust that his superiors had access to information that made a decision like this seem reasonable.
"Just follow... the plan..."
So far, they've only been ordered to amass, sail to Menda Point, and heighten their combat readiness. While it's been indicated that a big Altaran force may be heading to Menda Point, there was nothing concrete about them having to face off against them. He mulled over whether this was a trap, as the Altarans could utilize their superior firepower and range to choose their engagements; even if they were dumb enough to choose to engage them in a pitched battle, their bigger guns were sure to leave stinging wounds on his fleet.
He got up from his seat as he was unable to break the stalemate with his worries. He pondered, taking a walk around the Carles Dídac Gallaire, which, while its rusting steel walls and uneven corridor lighting leaves a lot to be desired was a lot better than being cooped up in a room as claustrophobic as his. Just as he was about to leave the vicinity of his desk, two loud knocks reverberated across the echo chamber-like room. They seemed to have come from the steel door, the room's only point of entry.
"Enter!"
Pommerau barked at the door, which swung open to reveal one of the young men he recognized to have come from the communications room. After a quick salute, the young man spoke in a wavering voice.
"F-From Prefect Command, s-s-sir!"
The young man had a stammer mouth. Thinking it may have been his tall, imposing stature, Pommerau drooped his shoulders and relaxed his eyes in an effort to get him to calm down.
"Speak slowly and articulate your words. You need not be so uptight, lest you mess up the contents of the message you are trying to tell me."
Heeding the vice admiral's words, the young man took a few seconds to calm down before he started talking again.
"New reports from wyvern reconnaissance confirm that a substantially large Altaran Navy force is chasing after Squadron 5. Task Force Nalina, as you will now be referred to, is to intercept, engage, and destroy this hostile task force."
The orders to attack this big Altaran fleet had now been given. Before Pommerau could dive into concocting a strategy, the young officer handed him a sheet of paper.
"This was also sent together with the new orders, sir."
Pommerau took a look at the sheet of paper, and his eyes immediately widened. What he saw was a near-conclusive list of what the Altaran task force consisted of. While Altaran wyverns ensured that their own recon wyverns didn't get close to see the actual makeup of the fleet, deductions from the lack of recent sightings of certain squadrons and the checking of Altaran navy patrol patterns gave Parpaldian military intelligence some ideas. The product of that intelligence was what was written in the paper Pommerau was holding, and it gave him useful insight as to what to prepare for—not to mention how instrumental a victory in this engagement would be.
"These... These are all their capital ships!"
The Altarans had put all of their eggs in one basket. A victory here was war-winning. The first thing that entered his mind was what kind of dull-witted dimwit decided to put every Altaran capital ship into one force. Right now, there were two variables he needed: the objective of this Altaran task force and whether or not they could monitor this task force. The first variable seemed to be clear as day: they were chasing after Squadron 5, mauled at an engagement with an Altaran squadron earlier and limping to the safety of Menda Point. But he was going off the consistency of two reports that were only a couple of hours apart. It was vexing to consider the possibility that this deduction of his may be wrong, but he'll have to consider this variable solved for now.
As for the other variable, that would require the cooperation of the wyvern corps. Determined to see this strategy through, he turned back to the communications officer.
"Alright, I—"
Just before he could issue orders, he caught a glance of another uniformed man appearing at the doorway. Wearing a similar uniform to this young officer, Pommerau deduced that this other man was also from communications.
"Sir!" The officer saluted as he called out. "New transmission from Prefect Command!"
The officer handed him another piece of paper with another list of ships. However, unlike the first one, this one included sloops of war, rated ships, the speed and heading of the fleet, and even which one was the flagship. His hands began to shake, not from nervousness but from exhilaration. It was obvious to a man as learned as him that this report had come from either a visual assessment or intelligence acquired from the Altaran Navy Command itself. There was one way to find out.
"Did Prefect Command give details about where this came from?"
He asked the other communications officer for more details.
"The wyvern corps, sir. They didn't say anything more than that."
"Figures," Pommerau murmured to himself. As a flag officer, he had an inkling as to how the wyvern corps conducts their reconnaissance, and it wouldn't be a surprise if they had pulled some tactical genius to get these details on the Altaran task force. They were so potent at their job that they were even tracking the movement of the Altaran wyvern corps itself, something that allows them in the navy to know whether they were spotted by the enemy or not. Judging from the fact that their heading remains unchanged, it was likely that they didn't even notice they had been observed—a massive advantage that they could exploit.
Seeing the stars align for them, Pommerau knew that the only thing left to do was to make it happen. After dismissing the communications officers, he went straight to contacting the other commanders of Task Force Nalina to brief them about the recent developments. The Prefect Command, having already surmised that the Altaran Royal Navy Command may have sent its capital ships on this mission, have briefed them beforehand on contingency battle plans; with it being definitely certain that the Altaran task force was bringing all of its eggs in one basket, Vice Admiral Pommerau activated one of those contingency battle plans.
In less than 18 hours, after months of impasse, the war between the Parpaldian Empire and the kingdom of Altaras is about to witness its most climactic event yet.
