Author’s Note: Extra chapter opportunities for Summoning America are back! I will be releasing 1 extra chapter for every $100 I receive on Patreon (in monthly donations). My link is available here, and on my discord server (some sites may block the link).
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/drdoritosmd
Discord: https://discord.gg/wr2xexGJaD
—-
November 17, 1640
Artticus Ocean, 200 miles from Hytal Base
Holy Mirishial Navy Zeroth Fleet
HMS Quasar
Admiral Tetryon gazed upon the magnificence of golden Mirishial ships, sunlight reflecting off their shining hulls. These proud ships parted the waters as they sailed toward Hytal Base, their guns primed for combat and sailors eager for battle. Flying above his glorious fleet was a trio of Plasma Dragons — whose massive size and obsidian black scales inspired awe — and a single Pal Chimera, which served as a testament to Mirishial might.
Although he was a bit disappointed at the size of his fleet in comparison to the size of his enemy’s fleet, he couldn’t help but feel confident in the abilities of the superweapons he had access to. The Gra Valkans have yet to devise effective countermeasures against their Comet-series anti-ship missiles, and they were laughably outclassed when pitted against the Plasma Dragons and Pal Chimera. His three Orichalcum-class battleships alone could devastate all of the enemy’s capital ships. Such was the true might of the greatest magical civilization in the world, he mused with pride.
As he became lost in thought, an alert came from the ship’s CIC, which was integrated with the Pal Chimera-like bridge. “Hostile contacts on radar! Hundreds – no, a thousand – enemy aircraft coming in from the direction of Hytal Base, distance: 150 miles!”
“Battlestations!” Tetryon immediately yelled as alarms throughout the ship blared. Red lights flashed throughout the ship as he hurriedly gave orders to his fleet, “Launch ALL fighter wings; defend our capital ships at all costs!”
At his command, the Zeroth fleet’s eight carriers were spurred into action, with dozens of Alpha-3 and Alpha-4 fighters soaring to the skies with every minute that passed. They linked up with fighters sent from the Mirishial mainland, bringing their combined numbers to 200. Although this fighter fleet represented one of the most powerful forces deployed in Mirishial history, it still paled in comparison to the near-thousand enemy planes barrelling toward them. Even if half of them were fighters, it still meant that they were outnumbered 2.5 to 1. Although it pained him to admit it, the enemy’s fighters were more than a match for his own. Even with aid from the Plasma Dragons, Pal Chimera, and their destroyers’ anti-air capabilities, he doubted that his fighters would be able to hold out.
Thankfully, he and the higher-ups back in Runepolis had come up with a strategy to make up for their anticipated lack of firepower: illusion spells. Tetryon sent out a message to the mage-carrying ships in his fleet, “All mage personnel, initiate Spell Program ‘Mirage’! Send all decoys ahead of our forces in a condensed formation and begin interference casting when you’ve generated the first wave of decoys!”
Shimmers of light spontaneously appeared in front of some of the fleet’s logistical vessels and capital ships as reality around them twisted and warped, molded by arcane sorcery. Rudimentary airframes began to materialize, followed by rough details and colors as they took to the skies with unthinkable acceleration. They forged ahead of the real Mirishial fighters, acting as a decoy to draw enemy fire.
While the mages acted on Tetryon’s orders, he redirected his attention to the Plasma Dragons and Pal Chimera, which he lumped into ‘Task Force Excalibur’. He hoped to take advantage of the enemy’s distracted nature as they engaged with the decoys, then swat down as many as he could with one fell swoop. “Commander Draugg, have your Plasma Dragons ready their attacks and fire once the enemy has engaged our decoys, then fall back to a defensive position and prepare to engage their surface fleet! Captain Aster, maintain distance from the enemy and coordinate with our aircraft to mount a defense. Focus power on shields and point defense until it is time to engage the enemy fleet!”
A series of acknowledgements came through his manacomm as his men complied with his strategy. Unless he could wipe out a significant portion of the enemy’s aircraft with a powerful first strike, his capital ships and Task Force Excalibur would not be able to hold out for long. If the Gra Valkans’ first attack on the Pal Chimerae units during the Battle of Otaheit was any indication, the dragons could easily succumb to a few squadrons of their fighters. All he could do now was hope that their magical countermeasures were enough to turn the tide of battle.
—-
GVN Carrier Air Wing 4
Fenrir Squadron
Captain Sinhelm’s gray eyes darted around as he glanced at the oddly dynamic weather shifting around his plane. Amidst the drone of his plane’s propeller, strong headwinds and even drizzle began to whittle away at his Antares Kaiser. While all Gra Valkan warplanes were engineered to withstand mild weather, that didn’t mean they were completely immune to performance degradation as a result of shaky turbulence and poor visibility. They would have to get closer to their targets, leaving them exposed to the enemy’s close-range armaments.
“Hostile magic is at play, everyone,” he addressed his men. “Looks like we’re going to have to fight in a storm; take winds and visibility into consideration and make all necessary adjustments when releasing your payloads.”
“Roger that, sir!” the replies came.
Sinhelm looked to his left and right. His squadron consisted entirely of the newest Antares Kaiser variants, which were armed with magically-enhanced rockets. These new weapons would undoubtedly give their planes a strong magic signature that could be easily picked up by enemy madars. He didn’t know how such magical devices worked, but if their scientists were truly accurate about magic waves, then one thing was for sure: the enemy would be able to see his signature through the storm. The same wasn’t necessarily true for his radar; precipitation could scramble information received by his instruments.
This was a trade-off deemed necessary by the higher-ups who had initially called for the Antares Kaiser units to be refitted with magic rockets. Their first encounter with the Pal Chimera was devastating, with massive casualties inflicted upon Gra Valkan squadrons whereas the magical saucer remained unharmed under the cover of invisible shields. It was only through a series of lucky strikes by the Grade Atlastar that the First Conquest Fleet managed to avoid a complete disaster. Calculating the yield of the Grade Atlastar’s cannons to estimate the rough strength of the Pal Chimera’s shields, naval analysts predicted that over two hundred Mehrzweckrakete Mark 2 rockets would be necessary to disable the shields and down the vessel.
Using magically enhanced MR-3 rockets, this number could be cut down to about a third: only 60 rockets were necessary to down a Plasma Dragon or Pal Chimera. However, these rockets were rather bulky, coming in at a weight of 60 kilograms. The Antares Kaiser only had four available hardpoints for weapons of this design, so they had to take utmost care when targeting and striking an enemy. If they missed, they would have to return to rearm, but given the long-range capabilities of Mirishial missiles, there was no telling if there would be any carriers left to resupply at.
Knowing that the survival of Hytal Base and the success of Emperor Gra Lux’s campaign rested on his squadron’s ability to wipe out the enemy, Sinhelm felt as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Only his fiery determination – fueled by his intense nationalism – pushed him forward. Without being able to see the faces of his men or hear their thoughts, he already knew that they, too, felt such anxiety.
Their morale could shift the outcome of the coming battle, so he decided to calm their minds. His voice pierced through the winds, reaching his men loud and clear through the radio. “Proud aviators of the Gra Valkas Empire, we shall see the enemy in the next few minutes. Many of you have experienced the horror that was the Battle of Otaheit. However, there are also many of you flying with me who have experienced the Battle of Kelsing, and the Battle of La Tepis, and those who have experienced such battles know that the Gra Valkas Empire is not perfect. We lost many men during those conflicts, but what did we do after those battles? We adapted! We overcame! We achieved victory!” Sinhelm paused, allowing a brief moment for his men to swallow the powerful message he had just sent out.
He then followed it up with reasoning, “During the Battle of Otaheit, we engaged with a powerful foe we had never seen before, and although we suffered many losses, we learned many lessons. As we head into battle against the enemy once more, we do so with this knowledge in our minds and improved weapons in our arsenal! We have at our disposal dozens of Antares Kaiser units, scores of Mark 3 rockets, and most importantly, an unbreakable will set on victory! Now ready yourselves, men, for it is now that we shall birth the first dragonslayers in the history of the Gra Valkas Empire!”
Cheers erupted across their communication network as the massive beasts finally came to view. The men’s hearts were lifted, bursting with pride and replacing anxiety with a desire to go down in history as the first pilots to take down dragons and a flying battleship. As Caesar had put it a few days ago, this was the era of legends, and the men under Sinhelm’s command did not shy away from this opportunity to become famous.
Cries of war echoed throughout the battlefield from both sides as Antares propellers droned on and Eimorian dragons roared. Hundreds of sleek silvery monoplanes collided with hundreds of shimmering golden jets as individual squadrons engaged each other. Bright orange Gra Valkan tracer rounds crossed paths with the yellow hue of Mirishial light-bullets, filling the darkening skies with an incredible lightshow that dwarfed even the firework celebrations of Conquest Day.
However, something wasn’t right. All of their strikes missed, and so did the enemies’. Mirishial light-bullets seemed to barely graze their planes, with some of their projectiles even seeming to phase through or disappear on contact. Their own bullets simply passed through the Mirishial planes as if they didn’t exist at all. There was only one explanation: magic.
Upon realizing that these ghostly planes were mere decoys, Sinhelm suddenly caught a glimpse of three flashes from the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he jerked his plane to the right, rolling to the side in preparation to circle back around to once more face the enemy. As he did so, he yelled through his radio, “Evade! Evade!”
Three massive balls of plasma burst through the clouds and collided with several groups of fighters that had failed to avoid the devastating attack. The collision between solid metal and superheated gas resulted in a dispersive effect by which plasma shot out in other directions, catching other planes in its deadly web. The lucky few who were caught in the center of the attack were instantaneously swallowed by the searing plasma, while those around were roasted in their own cockpits. Some suffered severe burns while others lost complete control of their craft, the propellers welded tight.
The devastating attack eliminated dozens of fighters in one go, leaving the Gra Valkans with a smaller numerical advantage. The sight of charred metal and spiraling planes falling to their doom was a sad one, but one that Sinhelm was already accustomed to. It hurt his pride and soul knowing that his men could be swatted from the sky without even being able to fight back, but he kept his composure and prepared for a counterattack. As soon as the dust settled, Mirishial fighters swarmed their chaotic and disorganized formations. Recovering from the split-second shock of watching his comrades erased from existence, he rallied his men, “Resume your attack! Slay these monsters before they can launch another strike!”
After circling back around, Sinhelm found himself behind an enemy fighter, which he promptly dispatched with a light pull of his trigger. The Mirishial fighter in front of him was perforated by his strafe, the pilot in its cockpit dead. After clearing his immediate vicinity, he and the fellow pilots in his squadron pushed through Mirishial fighter formations and allowed standard Antares units to engage the hostile fighters while they focused on getting their payloads to their targets.
“Fenrir Squadron, check in.”
“Fenrir Two, all good.”
“Fenrir Five, slight damage to my left wing but it shouldn’t be a problem.”
The remaining pilots checked in, except for Fenrir Twelve. “Damn,” he said. Not only did he lose a skilled pilot, he also lost four crucial rockets that might be vital to their mission. Sinhelm allowed a fraction of a second to grieve before returning to the task at hand. “I’ve also received reports from other squadrons. Five of our men are already on their way to Valhalla…” he trailed off. “That means we’ve got less rockets to pull off our mission with. Our comrades are counting on us to eliminate those heavy targets so stay alive and make your shots count! For the Emperor!”
Author’s Note: Extra chapter opportunities for Summoning America are back! I will be releasing 1 extra chapter for every $100 I receive on Patreon (in monthly donations). My link is available here, and on my discord server (some sites may block the link).
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/drdoritosmd
Discord: https://discord.gg/wr2xexGJaD
—-
November 17, 1640
Artticus Ocean, 200 miles from Hytal Base
Holy Mirishial Navy Zeroth Fleet
HMS Quasar
Admiral Tetryon gazed upon the magnificence of golden Mirishial ships, sunlight reflecting off their shining hulls. These proud ships parted the waters as they sailed toward Hytal Base, their guns primed for combat and sailors eager for battle. Flying above his glorious fleet was a trio of Plasma Dragons — whose massive size and obsidian black scales inspired awe — and a single Pal Chimera, which served as a testament to Mirishial might.
Although he was a bit disappointed at the size of his fleet in comparison to the size of his enemy’s fleet, he couldn’t help but feel confident in the abilities of the superweapons he had access to. The Gra Valkans have yet to devise effective countermeasures against their Comet-series anti-ship missiles, and they were laughably outclassed when pitted against the Plasma Dragons and Pal Chimera. His three Orichalcum-class battleships alone could devastate all of the enemy’s capital ships. Such was the true might of the greatest magical civilization in the world, he mused with pride.
As he became lost in thought, an alert came from the ship’s CIC, which was integrated with the Pal Chimera-like bridge. “Hostile contacts on radar! Hundreds – no, a thousand – enemy aircraft coming in from the direction of Hytal Base, distance: 150 miles!”
“Battlestations!” Tetryon immediately yelled as alarms throughout the ship blared. Red lights flashed throughout the ship as he hurriedly gave orders to his fleet, “Launch ALL fighter wings; defend our capital ships at all costs!”
At his command, the Zeroth fleet’s eight carriers were spurred into action, with dozens of Alpha-3 and Alpha-4 fighters soaring to the skies with every minute that passed. They linked up with fighters sent from the Mirishial mainland, bringing their combined numbers to 200. Although this fighter fleet represented one of the most powerful forces deployed in Mirishial history, it still paled in comparison to the near-thousand enemy planes barrelling toward them. Even if half of them were fighters, it still meant that they were outnumbered 2.5 to 1. Although it pained him to admit it, the enemy’s fighters were more than a match for his own. Even with aid from the Plasma Dragons, Pal Chimera, and their destroyers’ anti-air capabilities, he doubted that his fighters would be able to hold out.
Thankfully, he and the higher-ups back in Runepolis had come up with a strategy to make up for their anticipated lack of firepower: illusion spells. Tetryon sent out a message to the mage-carrying ships in his fleet, “All mage personnel, initiate Spell Program ‘Mirage’! Send all decoys ahead of our forces in a condensed formation and begin interference casting when you’ve generated the first wave of decoys!”
Shimmers of light spontaneously appeared in front of some of the fleet’s logistical vessels and capital ships as reality around them twisted and warped, molded by arcane sorcery. Rudimentary airframes began to materialize, followed by rough details and colors as they took to the skies with unthinkable acceleration. They forged ahead of the real Mirishial fighters, acting as a decoy to draw enemy fire.
While the mages acted on Tetryon’s orders, he redirected his attention to the Plasma Dragons and Pal Chimera, which he lumped into ‘Task Force Excalibur’. He hoped to take advantage of the enemy’s distracted nature as they engaged with the decoys, then swat down as many as he could with one fell swoop. “Commander Draugg, have your Plasma Dragons ready their attacks and fire once the enemy has engaged our decoys, then fall back to a defensive position and prepare to engage their surface fleet! Captain Aster, maintain distance from the enemy and coordinate with our aircraft to mount a defense. Focus power on shields and point defense until it is time to engage the enemy fleet!”
A series of acknowledgements came through his manacomm as his men complied with his strategy. Unless he could wipe out a significant portion of the enemy’s aircraft with a powerful first strike, his capital ships and Task Force Excalibur would not be able to hold out for long. If the Gra Valkans’ first attack on the Pal Chimerae units during the Battle of Otaheit was any indication, the dragons could easily succumb to a few squadrons of their fighters. All he could do now was hope that their magical countermeasures were enough to turn the tide of battle.
—-
GVN Carrier Air Wing 4
Fenrir Squadron
Captain Sinhelm’s gray eyes darted around as he glanced at the oddly dynamic weather shifting around his plane. Amidst the drone of his plane’s propeller, strong headwinds and even drizzle began to whittle away at his Antares Kaiser. While all Gra Valkan warplanes were engineered to withstand mild weather, that didn’t mean they were completely immune to performance degradation as a result of shaky turbulence and poor visibility. They would have to get closer to their targets, leaving them exposed to the enemy’s close-range armaments.
“Hostile magic is at play, everyone,” he addressed his men. “Looks like we’re going to have to fight in a storm; take winds and visibility into consideration and make all necessary adjustments when releasing your payloads.”
“Roger that, sir!” the replies came.
Sinhelm looked to his left and right. His squadron consisted entirely of the newest Antares Kaiser variants, which were armed with magically-enhanced rockets. These new weapons would undoubtedly give their planes a strong magic signature that could be easily picked up by enemy madars. He didn’t know how such magical devices worked, but if their scientists were truly accurate about magic waves, then one thing was for sure: the enemy would be able to see his signature through the storm. The same wasn’t necessarily true for his radar; precipitation could scramble information received by his instruments.
This was a trade-off deemed necessary by the higher-ups who had initially called for the Antares Kaiser units to be refitted with magic rockets. Their first encounter with the Pal Chimera was devastating, with massive casualties inflicted upon Gra Valkan squadrons whereas the magical saucer remained unharmed under the cover of invisible shields. It was only through a series of lucky strikes by the Grade Atlastar that the First Conquest Fleet managed to avoid a complete disaster. Calculating the yield of the Grade Atlastar’s cannons to estimate the rough strength of the Pal Chimera’s shields, naval analysts predicted that over two hundred Mehrzweckrakete Mark 2 rockets would be necessary to disable the shields and down the vessel.
Using magically enhanced MR-3 rockets, this number could be cut down to about a third: only 60 rockets were necessary to down a Plasma Dragon or Pal Chimera. However, these rockets were rather bulky, coming in at a weight of 60 kilograms. The Antares Kaiser only had four available hardpoints for weapons of this design, so they had to take utmost care when targeting and striking an enemy. If they missed, they would have to return to rearm, but given the long-range capabilities of Mirishial missiles, there was no telling if there would be any carriers left to resupply at.
Knowing that the survival of Hytal Base and the success of Emperor Gra Lux’s campaign rested on his squadron’s ability to wipe out the enemy, Sinhelm felt as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Only his fiery determination – fueled by his intense nationalism – pushed him forward. Without being able to see the faces of his men or hear their thoughts, he already knew that they, too, felt such anxiety.
Their morale could shift the outcome of the coming battle, so he decided to calm their minds. His voice pierced through the winds, reaching his men loud and clear through the radio. “Proud aviators of the Gra Valkas Empire, we shall see the enemy in the next few minutes. Many of you have experienced the horror that was the Battle of Otaheit. However, there are also many of you flying with me who have experienced the Battle of Kelsing, and the Battle of La Tepis, and those who have experienced such battles know that the Gra Valkas Empire is not perfect. We lost many men during those conflicts, but what did we do after those battles? We adapted! We overcame! We achieved victory!” Sinhelm paused, allowing a brief moment for his men to swallow the powerful message he had just sent out.
He then followed it up with reasoning, “During the Battle of Otaheit, we engaged with a powerful foe we had never seen before, and although we suffered many losses, we learned many lessons. As we head into battle against the enemy once more, we do so with this knowledge in our minds and improved weapons in our arsenal! We have at our disposal dozens of Antares Kaiser units, scores of Mark 3 rockets, and most importantly, an unbreakable will set on victory! Now ready yourselves, men, for it is now that we shall birth the first dragonslayers in the history of the Gra Valkas Empire!”
Cheers erupted across their communication network as the massive beasts finally came to view. The men’s hearts were lifted, bursting with pride and replacing anxiety with a desire to go down in history as the first pilots to take down dragons and a flying battleship. As Caesar had put it a few days ago, this was the era of legends, and the men under Sinhelm’s command did not shy away from this opportunity to become famous.
Cries of war echoed throughout the battlefield from both sides as Antares propellers droned on and Eimorian dragons roared. Hundreds of sleek silvery monoplanes collided with hundreds of shimmering golden jets as individual squadrons engaged each other. Bright orange Gra Valkan tracer rounds crossed paths with the yellow hue of Mirishial light-bullets, filling the darkening skies with an incredible lightshow that dwarfed even the firework celebrations of Conquest Day.
However, something wasn’t right. All of their strikes missed, and so did the enemies’. Mirishial light-bullets seemed to barely graze their planes, with some of their projectiles even seeming to phase through or disappear on contact. Their own bullets simply passed through the Mirishial planes as if they didn’t exist at all. There was only one explanation: magic.
Upon realizing that these ghostly planes were mere decoys, Sinhelm suddenly caught a glimpse of three flashes from the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he jerked his plane to the right, rolling to the side in preparation to circle back around to once more face the enemy. As he did so, he yelled through his radio, “Evade! Evade!”
Three massive balls of plasma burst through the clouds and collided with several groups of fighters that had failed to avoid the devastating attack. The collision between solid metal and superheated gas resulted in a dispersive effect by which plasma shot out in other directions, catching other planes in its deadly web. The lucky few who were caught in the center of the attack were instantaneously swallowed by the searing plasma, while those around were roasted in their own cockpits. Some suffered severe burns while others lost complete control of their craft, the propellers welded tight.
The devastating attack eliminated dozens of fighters in one go, leaving the Gra Valkans with a smaller numerical advantage. The sight of charred metal and spiraling planes falling to their doom was a sad one, but one that Sinhelm was already accustomed to. It hurt his pride and soul knowing that his men could be swatted from the sky without even being able to fight back, but he kept his composure and prepared for a counterattack. As soon as the dust settled, Mirishial fighters swarmed their chaotic and disorganized formations. Recovering from the split-second shock of watching his comrades erased from existence, he rallied his men, “Resume your attack! Slay these monsters before they can launch another strike!”
After circling back around, Sinhelm found himself behind an enemy fighter, which he promptly dispatched with a light pull of his trigger. The Mirishial fighter in front of him was perforated by his strafe, the pilot in its cockpit dead. After clearing his immediate vicinity, he and the fellow pilots in his squadron pushed through Mirishial fighter formations and allowed standard Antares units to engage the hostile fighters while they focused on getting their payloads to their targets.
“Fenrir Squadron, check in.”
“Fenrir Two, all good.”
“Fenrir Five, slight damage to my left wing but it shouldn’t be a problem.”
The remaining pilots checked in, except for Fenrir Twelve. “Damn,” he said. Not only did he lose a skilled pilot, he also lost four crucial rockets that might be vital to their mission. Sinhelm allowed a fraction of a second to grieve before returning to the task at hand. “I’ve also received reports from other squadrons. Five of our men are already on their way to Valhalla…” he trailed off. “That means we’ve got less rockets to pull off our mission with. Our comrades are counting on us to eliminate those heavy targets so stay alive and make your shots count! For the Emperor!”
