December 23, 1640
En Route to Cartalpas
U.S. Navy Seventh Fleet
USS Gerald R. Ford
Admiral William Hawthorne stood at the bridge of his flagship, his eyes scanning the vast expanse of the ocean and the incredible fleet that he led. Around him sailed dozens of destroyers, cruisers, submarines, and supply ships – members of Carrier Strike Group 12 (CSG 12), CSG 5, Destroyer Squadron 15 (DESRON 15), and the other units that made up the Seventh Fleet. He proudly watched the historic sight before him, recognizing that this was the largest deployment in modern history – dwarfing even the Lourian and Parpaldian Wars.
Captain Richard Vaughn approached, saluting crisply. “Admiral, the latest intelligence has been analyzed. The Gra Valkans are deploying two main fleets. One is heading towards Cartalpas, and the smaller force is diverting towards Galavete.”
Hawthorne nodded, processing the information. “What about coordination with the Holy Mirishial Empire? Have they been briefed on the situation in Cartalpas?”
Vaughn responded, “They have. The Department of State had the Consul General in Cartalpas relay the information to the Mirishials. We’ve also established a secure data-sharing channel with their command center to ensure seamless coordination.”
Hawthorne’s expression hardened. “Good. Time is of the essence here. Inform them of our ETA. Now, as for Galavete…” Hawthorne read the reports aloud, “Four fleet carriers, ten escort carriers, and other ships... The diversion in Galavete is a clear attempt to draw us away from Cartalpas.”
Captain Vaughn agreed, his eyes on the tactical map. “It seems so, Admiral. We’ll need to balance our response.”
Hawthorne nodded. “What's our current force in Galavete?”
Vaughn quickly checked the deployment status. “Four Arleigh Burke-class destroyers, one Ticonderoga-class cruiser, one squadron each of F-16s and F-15s, a handful of F-35s. They’ve also got multiple recon drones, an E-3, an RC-135, some fuel tankers, a P-8, and a Growler, sir.”
“Good,” Hawthorne said, his mind working through the situation. “We need to reinforce Galavete without significantly impacting our mission to Cartalpas. Send four additional destroyers from DS7 alongside the USS America ESG. What we have in Galavete should be enough, but these reinforcements should expand our coverage and solidify our advantage.”
Vaughn made a note of the orders. “Understood, Admiral. I’ll coordinate with the Carrier and Expeditionary Strike Groups.”
Hawthorne’s eyes returned to the formation of ships sailing around him. Though the Gra Valkans couldn’t hope to touch the U.S. Navy, they were more than a match for EDI forces. Hopefully, the Mirishials would be able to hold out until his fleet arrived.
––
Cartalpas, Holy Mirishial Empire
A chilling breeze swept through the naval command center at Cartalpas, carrying with it the winds of impending conflict. Admiral Serrath, a seasoned Mirishial officer with stern eyes, stood at the center of the bustling room. Officers, clerks, and strategists darted from one station to another, their faces marked by anticipation.
Serrath’s gaze shifted to the large window overlooking the port. Warships were being armed, fueled, and fitted with last-minute provisions. Cranes swung, and soldiers scurried, readying the defenses of a city that had never before felt the shadow of war so closely.
His attention was drawn back to a large tactical display, where the movements of Gra Valkan recon units were being tracked with the aid of the Americans and patrolling units. They had been spotted on the outskirts of Follicus Island, along the western part of the Cartalpas Strait. The skirmishes had been minor so far, but the message was clear: battle was approaching.
He turned to Captain Firal, his chief of staff. “Captain, how is the progress with the evacuations?”
Firal nodded, his face grim. “We’ve cleared out the port and 4 blocks inland so far. Progress is slow; some citizens are unconvinced.”
The admiral looked once more over the harbor, the sunlight glinting off the rippling water. His sigh was drowned out by the distant hum of engines, the clang of metal, and the murmur of urgent voices. “Do what you can. Have the fire department make up issues if you need to. We must at least evacuate all civilians from the vicinity of potential targets.”
As Firal left, Serrath gave another sigh, lamenting the once-unthinkable fact that Cartalpas was now under threat of war. The days of peace were over, replaced by a time of uncertainty and fear.
Serrath’s eyes narrowed as he watched a cruiser pull away from the dock, its bow slicing through the waves. He looked away, returning to the chaos of the command center, his mind focused and determined. Taking a glance at his watch, he steadily walked toward a conference room down the hall.
He entered, sitting at the head of a long table. He surrounded by senior Mirishial officers and strategists, alongside liaisons from the Eimorians, Agarthans, Torquians, and Centrallites. Maps and displays were strewn across the surface, illuminated by the dim magical lighting overhead. The men around him continued their hushed whispers until he raised a hand, beginning the meeting.
“We’ll begin right away. General Fergund,” Serrath said, turning to a dwarf in a green Mirishial dress uniform, “How are your preparations coming along?”
Fergund, the ground forces commander, responded. “Our coastal batteries are in place, and the reserves are mobilized. We’ve established fifteen camouflaged sites for Stinger teams, with another ten being set up. Our mages have finished the construction of dozens of pillboxes around the beach and on the nearby cliffs and we’ve managed to install ten more Ixion 25-millimeter AA pieces.”
Admiral Serrath absorbed the details. “Good. We’ll need every advantage we can get. Lumis, have we received any more reinforcements from the inland provinces?”
Air Force Commander Virian Lumis responded, his tone as regal as any other elf. “Yes, sir, the 30th Air Wing and its six squadrons of fighters and bombers. This puts us at 40 squadrons of fighters and 34 squadrons of bombers – almost 900 aircraft, including our carrier forces. Unfortunately, Command cannot send any further reinforcements; they’re being diverted in the Junnaral Province instead. We are also instructed to keep our superweapons in reserve, prioritizing their safety as much as possible.”
The room was filled with a series of affirmatives as each department head gave their updates. Intelligence, logistics, communication – all were aligned and ready.
Suddenly, a soft chime sounded and an officer entered the room, carrying a sealed envelope. He handed it to Serrath, who opened it in a swift motion.
“It’s from the Americans,” Serrath said, scanning the contents quickly. “They’ve confirmed their asset deployments and are sharing intel with us. However, their updated ETA lags behind that of the Gra Valkans. They will not be able to reinforce Cartalpas in time for the battle.”
Murmurs of unease filled the room, leaving no traces of the haughtiness and pride that typically accompanied Mirishial and Eimorian leaders. Everyone present had access to the latest battlefield reports and knew all too well the destruction that the Gra Valkans wrought upon the Otaheit and Hytal fleets. Though the guarantee of American reinforcements was a relief, there was no telling if they could survive for long enough.
“The Gra Valkan movements,” Serrath continued, his voice sharpening, “show a clear pattern. They’re circling the bay, probing our defenses. There have been minor skirmishes along the outer perimeter. We should expect a full-scale assault to being at any moment.”
The room fell into a focused silence, each individual processing the magnitude of the situation. Plans were reviewed, last-minute adjustments made, and contingency scenarios discussed.
Serrath leaned over the map sprawled across the table, his eyes tracing the deep V-shaped bay of Cartalpas. “We’ll keep the Mithril-class battleships at and around the mouth of the fjord, forming our core defense line,” he said, his voice steady but not without an edge of concern.
One of his key officers nodded, moving pieces on the map. “Cruisers and destroyers will be layered, inside and outside the fjord. They and a squadron of Gold-class battleships and escort carriers positioned near Follicus Island can provide the flexibility to counterattack.”
Serrath’s gaze settled on the Orichalcum-class battleships. “The Gra Valkans’ tactics have improved since the Battle of Hytal. Keep the Orichalcums protected within the bay, inside the overlapping zones created by our Stinger units, Pal Chimera, and other anti-air,” he ordered. “We’ll use them for precise strikes when opportunities present.”
On the topic of aerial defense, Serrath turned to General Ilarus of Eimor. “Wind dragons, can we conceal them along the coastline, within the coves and foliage?”
Ilarus’ face seemed to twitch slightly, as if his pride was insulted. However, he soon recognized why Serrath asked such a question. “Indeed, Admiral. They need no runways, and the terrain will shield them from enemy scouts.” He hesitated as he said the next words, “A surprise assault… could sow far more chaos among the Gra Valkans than a direct assault.”
“Excellent,” Serrath approved, turning his attention to the mages from Agartha, Torquia, and the Central Kingdom. “And our magical forces?”
An Agarthan mage provided a straightforward and emotionless explanation, “Our magic can be used for defensive support. Water magic to generate currents and redirect torpedoes, ice barriers for shielding, and illusion magic to mislead the enemy. We’ve also just learned about material science from American advisors.”
“Oh?” Serrath asked, intrigued by the Agarthan’s words. “Have you come up with something new?”
The Agarthan elaborated, “They recommended the use of ice and fire magic to control the temperature of water in order to engage submarines. Temperature control is elementary compared to advanced spells such as the Ixion laser, so we can perform it at a distance, and with large volumes of water. I do not fully understand how this works, but freezing the water near a submarine can cause the metal hull to become brittle. Heating it rapidly can further damage the already-stressed metal, and repeating this process can quickly fatigue the hull. The Americans also mentioned concepts such as thermal shock and pressure waves, though the understanding eludes me.”
Serrath nodded along, slightly confused but getting the overall gist. “Very well,” he stated, “On top of providing support to our carriers, some of your ships will be assigned to hunt submarines.”
His eyes then met those of Captain Nerys, the liaison with the U.S. consulate. “Captain, I’m assigning a group of communications officers to go with you to the consulate. I’m counting on you to keep us updated and informed of the Americans’ plans.”
Nerys saluted, determination in her eyes. “Yes, Admiral.”
As the meeting died down and focused silence overcame the room once more, Serrath’s gaze lingered on the map. In a war of attrition, his forces would certainly lose. However, one advantage they had over the Gra Valkans was time – all they had to do was survive long enough for reinforcements to arrive.
––
Seehund-class Fleet Submarine, GVS Niflheim
Deep beneath the restless waves of the Cartalpas Strait, a pack of submarines glided silently, their hulls glinting darkly in the scant light that filtered down from the surface. Leading this pack was Captain Donitz’s GVS Niflheim, its steel hull moving through the ocean’s depths like a shadow within the abyss. His mission was clear, yet the silence within the vessel was almost suffocating, filled only by the distant hum of engines and the distant, haunting echoes picked up by the sonar.
Captain Donitz studied the charts in the dim glow of red-filtered lamps, a furrowed brow revealing his deep concentration. Beside him, Commander Leibniz checked the latest encrypted message from High Command, his lips moving slightly as he decoded the string of Kainian letters.
“Captain,” Leibniz finally spoke, “orders confirmed. Intelligence reports suggest Orichalcum-class battleships in the rear of the enemy formations, close to their Pal Chimera along the port.”
Donitz looked up, his blue eyes showing a savage, hungry look. “Orichalcum-class, you say? The prey that escaped us back then… Very well.”
A calm quiet settled over the control room as the submarine continued its approach. Each member of the crew knew their role, and they executed their duties with machine-like precision.
But it was not just machines that filled the Niflheim. The submarine was a living entity, each compartment filled with the thoughts and emotions of its crew. The galley, where a cook prepared a modest meal, the engine room, where engineers kept the heart of the vessel beating, and the communication room, where signals were received and transmitted – all played their part in the grand symphony of war.
As they approached the target zone, the mood within the Niflheim grew more tense.
“Contact bearing zero-three-one, range 10,000 meters, sir,” said Lieutenant Weber, the sonar operator, his voice edged with a mixture of excitement and restraint. His hands moved skillfully over the plotting table as he translated the sounds into coordinates.
Donitz looked to Weber, who had been intently studying the intelligence reports. “Could that be an Orichalcum?” he asked.
Weber paused, his brow furrowed as he cross-referenced the data. “The sound signature fits an Orichalcum-class, Captain.”
A sense of determination filled the room. The Orichalcum-class battleships were a significant threat to the Gra Valkan fleet, and sinking one would send a powerful message.
“Prepare to engage,” Donitz ordered, his voice calm yet filled with resolve. “Let’s verify that target.”
For the next several minutes, the Niflheim maneuvered silently through the water, her crew working with practiced efficiency to confirm the identity of the target. They cross-referenced sonar data with intelligence reports, compared sound signatures, and analyzed movement patterns.
Finally, Weber looked up from his workstation, his eyes meeting the Captain’s. “Confirmed, sir. It’s an Orichalcum.”
“Very well,” Donitz said, his steady voice giving away to temptation. “Plot an intercept course and prepare for battle.”
December 23, 1640
En Route to Cartalpas
U.S. Navy Seventh Fleet
USS Gerald R. Ford
Admiral William Hawthorne stood at the bridge of his flagship, his eyes scanning the vast expanse of the ocean and the incredible fleet that he led. Around him sailed dozens of destroyers, cruisers, submarines, and supply ships – members of Carrier Strike Group 12 (CSG 12), CSG 5, Destroyer Squadron 15 (DESRON 15), and the other units that made up the Seventh Fleet. He proudly watched the historic sight before him, recognizing that this was the largest deployment in modern history – dwarfing even the Lourian and Parpaldian Wars.
Captain Richard Vaughn approached, saluting crisply. “Admiral, the latest intelligence has been analyzed. The Gra Valkans are deploying two main fleets. One is heading towards Cartalpas, and the smaller force is diverting towards Galavete.”
Hawthorne nodded, processing the information. “What about coordination with the Holy Mirishial Empire? Have they been briefed on the situation in Cartalpas?”
Vaughn responded, “They have. The Department of State had the Consul General in Cartalpas relay the information to the Mirishials. We’ve also established a secure data-sharing channel with their command center to ensure seamless coordination.”
Hawthorne’s expression hardened. “Good. Time is of the essence here. Inform them of our ETA. Now, as for Galavete…” Hawthorne read the reports aloud, “Four fleet carriers, ten escort carriers, and other ships... The diversion in Galavete is a clear attempt to draw us away from Cartalpas.”
Captain Vaughn agreed, his eyes on the tactical map. “It seems so, Admiral. We’ll need to balance our response.”
Hawthorne nodded. “What's our current force in Galavete?”
Vaughn quickly checked the deployment status. “Four Arleigh Burke-class destroyers, one Ticonderoga-class cruiser, one squadron each of F-16s and F-15s, a handful of F-35s. They’ve also got multiple recon drones, an E-3, an RC-135, some fuel tankers, a P-8, and a Growler, sir.”
“Good,” Hawthorne said, his mind working through the situation. “We need to reinforce Galavete without significantly impacting our mission to Cartalpas. Send four additional destroyers from DS7 alongside the USS America ESG. What we have in Galavete should be enough, but these reinforcements should expand our coverage and solidify our advantage.”
Vaughn made a note of the orders. “Understood, Admiral. I’ll coordinate with the Carrier and Expeditionary Strike Groups.”
Hawthorne’s eyes returned to the formation of ships sailing around him. Though the Gra Valkans couldn’t hope to touch the U.S. Navy, they were more than a match for EDI forces. Hopefully, the Mirishials would be able to hold out until his fleet arrived.
––
Cartalpas, Holy Mirishial Empire
A chilling breeze swept through the naval command center at Cartalpas, carrying with it the winds of impending conflict. Admiral Serrath, a seasoned Mirishial officer with stern eyes, stood at the center of the bustling room. Officers, clerks, and strategists darted from one station to another, their faces marked by anticipation.
Serrath’s gaze shifted to the large window overlooking the port. Warships were being armed, fueled, and fitted with last-minute provisions. Cranes swung, and soldiers scurried, readying the defenses of a city that had never before felt the shadow of war so closely.
His attention was drawn back to a large tactical display, where the movements of Gra Valkan recon units were being tracked with the aid of the Americans and patrolling units. They had been spotted on the outskirts of Follicus Island, along the western part of the Cartalpas Strait. The skirmishes had been minor so far, but the message was clear: battle was approaching.
He turned to Captain Firal, his chief of staff. “Captain, how is the progress with the evacuations?”
Firal nodded, his face grim. “We’ve cleared out the port and 4 blocks inland so far. Progress is slow; some citizens are unconvinced.”
The admiral looked once more over the harbor, the sunlight glinting off the rippling water. His sigh was drowned out by the distant hum of engines, the clang of metal, and the murmur of urgent voices. “Do what you can. Have the fire department make up issues if you need to. We must at least evacuate all civilians from the vicinity of potential targets.”
As Firal left, Serrath gave another sigh, lamenting the once-unthinkable fact that Cartalpas was now under threat of war. The days of peace were over, replaced by a time of uncertainty and fear.
Serrath’s eyes narrowed as he watched a cruiser pull away from the dock, its bow slicing through the waves. He looked away, returning to the chaos of the command center, his mind focused and determined. Taking a glance at his watch, he steadily walked toward a conference room down the hall.
He entered, sitting at the head of a long table. He surrounded by senior Mirishial officers and strategists, alongside liaisons from the Eimorians, Agarthans, Torquians, and Centrallites. Maps and displays were strewn across the surface, illuminated by the dim magical lighting overhead. The men around him continued their hushed whispers until he raised a hand, beginning the meeting.
“We’ll begin right away. General Fergund,” Serrath said, turning to a dwarf in a green Mirishial dress uniform, “How are your preparations coming along?”
Fergund, the ground forces commander, responded. “Our coastal batteries are in place, and the reserves are mobilized. We’ve established fifteen camouflaged sites for Stinger teams, with another ten being set up. Our mages have finished the construction of dozens of pillboxes around the beach and on the nearby cliffs and we’ve managed to install ten more Ixion 25-millimeter AA pieces.”
Admiral Serrath absorbed the details. “Good. We’ll need every advantage we can get. Lumis, have we received any more reinforcements from the inland provinces?”
Air Force Commander Virian Lumis responded, his tone as regal as any other elf. “Yes, sir, the 30th Air Wing and its six squadrons of fighters and bombers. This puts us at 40 squadrons of fighters and 34 squadrons of bombers – almost 900 aircraft, including our carrier forces. Unfortunately, Command cannot send any further reinforcements; they’re being diverted in the Junnaral Province instead. We are also instructed to keep our superweapons in reserve, prioritizing their safety as much as possible.”
The room was filled with a series of affirmatives as each department head gave their updates. Intelligence, logistics, communication – all were aligned and ready.
Suddenly, a soft chime sounded and an officer entered the room, carrying a sealed envelope. He handed it to Serrath, who opened it in a swift motion.
“It’s from the Americans,” Serrath said, scanning the contents quickly. “They’ve confirmed their asset deployments and are sharing intel with us. However, their updated ETA lags behind that of the Gra Valkans. They will not be able to reinforce Cartalpas in time for the battle.”
Murmurs of unease filled the room, leaving no traces of the haughtiness and pride that typically accompanied Mirishial and Eimorian leaders. Everyone present had access to the latest battlefield reports and knew all too well the destruction that the Gra Valkans wrought upon the Otaheit and Hytal fleets. Though the guarantee of American reinforcements was a relief, there was no telling if they could survive for long enough.
“The Gra Valkan movements,” Serrath continued, his voice sharpening, “show a clear pattern. They’re circling the bay, probing our defenses. There have been minor skirmishes along the outer perimeter. We should expect a full-scale assault to being at any moment.”
The room fell into a focused silence, each individual processing the magnitude of the situation. Plans were reviewed, last-minute adjustments made, and contingency scenarios discussed.
Serrath leaned over the map sprawled across the table, his eyes tracing the deep V-shaped bay of Cartalpas. “We’ll keep the Mithril-class battleships at and around the mouth of the fjord, forming our core defense line,” he said, his voice steady but not without an edge of concern.
One of his key officers nodded, moving pieces on the map. “Cruisers and destroyers will be layered, inside and outside the fjord. They and a squadron of Gold-class battleships and escort carriers positioned near Follicus Island can provide the flexibility to counterattack.”
Serrath’s gaze settled on the Orichalcum-class battleships. “The Gra Valkans’ tactics have improved since the Battle of Hytal. Keep the Orichalcums protected within the bay, inside the overlapping zones created by our Stinger units, Pal Chimera, and other anti-air,” he ordered. “We’ll use them for precise strikes when opportunities present.”
On the topic of aerial defense, Serrath turned to General Ilarus of Eimor. “Wind dragons, can we conceal them along the coastline, within the coves and foliage?”
Ilarus’ face seemed to twitch slightly, as if his pride was insulted. However, he soon recognized why Serrath asked such a question. “Indeed, Admiral. They need no runways, and the terrain will shield them from enemy scouts.” He hesitated as he said the next words, “A surprise assault… could sow far more chaos among the Gra Valkans than a direct assault.”
“Excellent,” Serrath approved, turning his attention to the mages from Agartha, Torquia, and the Central Kingdom. “And our magical forces?”
An Agarthan mage provided a straightforward and emotionless explanation, “Our magic can be used for defensive support. Water magic to generate currents and redirect torpedoes, ice barriers for shielding, and illusion magic to mislead the enemy. We’ve also just learned about material science from American advisors.”
“Oh?” Serrath asked, intrigued by the Agarthan’s words. “Have you come up with something new?”
The Agarthan elaborated, “They recommended the use of ice and fire magic to control the temperature of water in order to engage submarines. Temperature control is elementary compared to advanced spells such as the Ixion laser, so we can perform it at a distance, and with large volumes of water. I do not fully understand how this works, but freezing the water near a submarine can cause the metal hull to become brittle. Heating it rapidly can further damage the already-stressed metal, and repeating this process can quickly fatigue the hull. The Americans also mentioned concepts such as thermal shock and pressure waves, though the understanding eludes me.”
Serrath nodded along, slightly confused but getting the overall gist. “Very well,” he stated, “On top of providing support to our carriers, some of your ships will be assigned to hunt submarines.”
His eyes then met those of Captain Nerys, the liaison with the U.S. consulate. “Captain, I’m assigning a group of communications officers to go with you to the consulate. I’m counting on you to keep us updated and informed of the Americans’ plans.”
Nerys saluted, determination in her eyes. “Yes, Admiral.”
As the meeting died down and focused silence overcame the room once more, Serrath’s gaze lingered on the map. In a war of attrition, his forces would certainly lose. However, one advantage they had over the Gra Valkans was time – all they had to do was survive long enough for reinforcements to arrive.
––
Seehund-class Fleet Submarine, GVS Niflheim
Deep beneath the restless waves of the Cartalpas Strait, a pack of submarines glided silently, their hulls glinting darkly in the scant light that filtered down from the surface. Leading this pack was Captain Donitz’s GVS Niflheim, its steel hull moving through the ocean’s depths like a shadow within the abyss. His mission was clear, yet the silence within the vessel was almost suffocating, filled only by the distant hum of engines and the distant, haunting echoes picked up by the sonar.
Captain Donitz studied the charts in the dim glow of red-filtered lamps, a furrowed brow revealing his deep concentration. Beside him, Commander Leibniz checked the latest encrypted message from High Command, his lips moving slightly as he decoded the string of Kainian letters.
“Captain,” Leibniz finally spoke, “orders confirmed. Intelligence reports suggest Orichalcum-class battleships in the rear of the enemy formations, close to their Pal Chimera along the port.”
Donitz looked up, his blue eyes showing a savage, hungry look. “Orichalcum-class, you say? The prey that escaped us back then… Very well.”
A calm quiet settled over the control room as the submarine continued its approach. Each member of the crew knew their role, and they executed their duties with machine-like precision.
But it was not just machines that filled the Niflheim. The submarine was a living entity, each compartment filled with the thoughts and emotions of its crew. The galley, where a cook prepared a modest meal, the engine room, where engineers kept the heart of the vessel beating, and the communication room, where signals were received and transmitted – all played their part in the grand symphony of war.
As they approached the target zone, the mood within the Niflheim grew more tense.
“Contact bearing zero-three-one, range 10,000 meters, sir,” said Lieutenant Weber, the sonar operator, his voice edged with a mixture of excitement and restraint. His hands moved skillfully over the plotting table as he translated the sounds into coordinates.
Donitz looked to Weber, who had been intently studying the intelligence reports. “Could that be an Orichalcum?” he asked.
Weber paused, his brow furrowed as he cross-referenced the data. “The sound signature fits an Orichalcum-class, Captain.”
A sense of determination filled the room. The Orichalcum-class battleships were a significant threat to the Gra Valkan fleet, and sinking one would send a powerful message.
“Prepare to engage,” Donitz ordered, his voice calm yet filled with resolve. “Let’s verify that target.”
For the next several minutes, the Niflheim maneuvered silently through the water, her crew working with practiced efficiency to confirm the identity of the target. They cross-referenced sonar data with intelligence reports, compared sound signatures, and analyzed movement patterns.
Finally, Weber looked up from his workstation, his eyes meeting the Captain’s. “Confirmed, sir. It’s an Orichalcum.”
“Very well,” Donitz said, his steady voice giving away to temptation. “Plot an intercept course and prepare for battle.”
