Author’s Note:
Want some more military vs fantasy? Check out Manifest Fantasy, my latest and highest quality work!
Read up to three weeks ahead! Chapters up to 188 are now out for corresponding Patreon tiers!
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/drdoritosmd
Discord: https://discord.gg/wr2xexGJaD
-- --
January 26, 1641
Artticus Ocean
IGVN VB-27 “Donner Squadron”
Lukas Adler banked his plane, the sleek lines of his Antares fighter cutting through the sky as he led the remnants of Donner Squadron back towards the GVS Adler. The attack run had been a grueling affair, the Muan La Burkes proving to be far more formidable than he had anticipated. Even with their superior Gra Valkan technology and training, the squadron had suffered heavy losses.
But they had struck a blow against the enemy, and that was what mattered. The sight of one of the La Burkes limping away, trailing smoke and flames, had been a balm to Adler's battered pride. These Muans, for all their vaunted American equipment, were still no match for the might of the Gra Valkas Empire.
As the GVS Adler came into view, a massive steel behemoth amidst the rolling waves, Adler felt a surge of anticipation. The carrier was a symbol of Gra Valkan power, a floating fortress from which they would launch their attacks and crush the enemies of the Empire.
He keyed his radio, following the proper protocols drilled into him through countless hours of training. "Adler Approach, Donner Leader, feet wet, in the break, over."
The response came back, crisp and efficient. "Donner Leader, Adler Approach, roger. Winds 220 at 12 knots, altimeter 2998. Deck is clear for Case I recovery. Report final, over."
"Wilco, Adler Approach. Donner Leader on final, gear down and locked, over." Adler replied, picturing the smooth glide onto the carrier's deck, the satisfying jolt as his plane caught the arresting wire.
He glanced over his shoulder, checking on the rest of his squadron as they formed up behind him. They were a sorry sight, their planes battered and scorched, but they had survived. He was about to key his radio again, to report his position on final approach, when something caught his eye. Bright lights, winking into existence on the horizon, like distant stars suddenly born in the middle of the day.
Adler frowned, squinting against the glare of the sun. The lights were moving, growing larger with each passing second. They almost looked like...
His eyes widened, a chill running down his spine as realization dawned. "Adler Approach, Donner Leader. I have visual on inbound objects, bearing 030. Appear to be missiles, over."
The response was immediate, the controller's voice now tinged with alarm. "Donner Leader, Adler Approach. Confirm missile sighting, bearing 090. Emergency procedures in effect. Break off approach and clear the area, acknowledge, over."
"Acknowledged, Adler Approach. Breaking off approach, over," Adler replied automatically, even as his mind raced with the implications. Missiles? Here? But how... and who...
His thoughts were cut off as the missiles streaked in, sudden and devastating. Brilliant flashes erupted along the length of the GVS Adler, explosions blossoming like fiery flowers as the warheads found their marks. The escort carriers flanking the Adler were hit as well, their decks and superstructures vanishing in sheets of flame.
Adler watched in stunned disbelief as the pride of the Gra Valkan Navy burned before him, the mighty carriers reduced to blazing pyres in a matter of seconds. The missiles had come out of nowhere, catching them completely off guard.
As the shock of the attack slowly gave way to a cold, simmering rage, Adler found himself grappling with the unexpected devastation. The GVS Adler, their base of operations, their very home in this hostile sea, had been crippled, perhaps destroyed outright.
And with her went their means of rearming, refueling, and repairing their planes. They were alone now, cut off from support and supply. The realization settled like a leaden weight in Adler's gut.
He circled the burning carriers, his mind spinning with questions. How could this have happened? Where had the missiles come from? And, most pressingly, where were they supposed to go now?
– –
The reports from the front lines had been encouraging, the strike group making steady progress against the enemy fleet. The Muan La Burke-class destroyers had proven to be a nuisance, but nothing that the superior training and technology of the Gra Valkan Navy couldn't overcome. Yet, the sense of foreboding was difficult to shake.
"Admiral Venstrom, sir!" The communications officer's voice was tense, edged with barely contained panic. "Urgent report from the Adler. They've been hit by missiles, origin unknown. Severe damage reported, sir."
Fleet Admiral Falke Venstrom felt his blood run cold, a sudden tightness gripping his chest. The Adler, the pride of the Second Conquest Fleet, struck by missiles? It seemed impossible, a nightmare scenario that he had hoped would never come to fruition. He turned to the officer, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside him. "Get me a full damage report, now. And find out where those missiles came from."
The damage reports began to filter in, each one more grim than the last. The Adler's flight deck was in shambles, her hangar bays a twisted ruin. Fires raged unchecked, and the ship was listing heavily, her crew fighting a desperate battle to keep her afloat. The escort carriers had fared even worse, their ammunition stores ignited by the missile impacts.
Venstrom's jaw clenched as he absorbed the news, his mind already racing ahead to the next steps. They needed to find out who was responsible for this attack, and they needed to do it fast. The Muans couldn't have this kind of capability, could they? And the Americans... no, they were still days away, according to the latest intelligence reports.
He turned to his chief of staff, Rear Admiral Gormund, who had just arrived on the bridge with an ashen face. "Gormund, I need answers. Where did those missiles come from? And how did they catch us so completely off guard?"
Gormund shook his head, his expression grim. "I don't know, sir. Our radar didn't pick up any launches, and there's no sign of enemy ships or planes in the area. It's like they came out of nowhere."
Venstrom nodded, his expression tight with barely contained frustration. There was only one possible answer. "Very well. Gather my officers in the briefing room. We need to assess the situation and decide on our next move."
Minutes later, Venstrom stood at the head of the table, his senior staff taking their seats before him. He could read the tension in their postures, the tight lines around their eyes and mouths. The shock and uncertainty that he felt were mirrored in their faces, a reflection of the grim situation they found themselves in.
"Gentlemen," Venstrom began, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside him. "As you know, the GVS Adler and her escorts have been hit by a missile attack of unknown origin. The damage is severe, and our strike group is now without air support. We need to understand what happened and adjust our strategy accordingly. Commander Eckhardt, what do we know about these missiles?"
Eckhardt leaned forward, his brow furrowed as he spoke. "Not much, sir. As Rear Admiral Gormund said, our sensors didn't pick up any launches. The missiles seemed to come out of nowhere."
Venstrom's jaw clenched. "Could it be some kind of new Elysian technology? Something we haven't encountered before?"
Eckhardt shook his head. "It's possible, sir, but unlikely. Our intelligence reports indicate that the Elysians don't possess missile technology advanced enough to evade our sensors completely."
"What about the Americans?" Venstrom asked, his mind racing through the possibilities. "Could they have developed stealth technology that our sensors can't pick up?"
"It's a possibility," Eckhardt admitted. "But even if they have, it doesn't explain how they managed to get close enough to launch without us detecting their ships or planes."
Venstrom leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed in thought. "What if they didn't need to get close?"
Eckhardt looked puzzled. "Sir?"
"Long-range missiles," Venstrom said, his voice low and tense. "If the Americans have missiles with a range greater than our scouting perimeter, they could have launched from well beyond our ability to detect them."
Eckhardt's eyes widened as he considered the implications. "If that's true, sir, then our entire fleet could be at risk. We wouldn't even see them coming."
If the missiles came from such a great distance, it would confirm his suspicions about the Fourth and Fifth Conquest Fleets. The lack of communication from them in recent weeks had been troubling, but he had held out hope that they were simply engaged in their own operations. Now, the pieces were falling into place. If the Americans could neutralize the GVS Adler so easily, it was entirely possible that they had already defeated the two conquest fleets.
The thought sent a chill down his spine. If the Americans had managed to defeat two conquest fleets in a matter of weeks, then the Gra Valkas Empire was engaging a greater threat than they had ever anticipated – a greater threat than they could hope to win against. While they were keenly aware of the technological superiority of the United States, it had always been – until now – a speck in the back of their minds. They had waved it off for so long, possibly because they didn’t like the harsh reality of the situation. And now, here they were, facing a nightmare built upon their cognitive dissonance.
Venstrom nodded grimly. "And if they can take out the Adler and her escorts so easily, it's possible they've already used these weapons against the Fourth and Fifth Conquest Fleets. That would explain the lack of communication from them."
“If that is the case, then… why haven’t they struck our fleet yet?” Gormund asked.
Venstrom considered the question. There were only two possible answers that came to mind. “Either the initial strike was a show of force and they are allowing us – even if inadvertently – the opportunity to surrender, or their missiles were launched from the furthest possible range – and as fate would have it, we are just outside of their range.”
Commander Neumark, the operations officer, quickly unrolled a large maritime chart of the region and spread it across the table. "Based on the estimated range of the American missiles, which intelligence suggests could be upwards of 1,000 nautical miles, the launch point could be anywhere within this sector," he said, tracing a large circle on the map with his finger.
Gormund leaned in, studying the chart with a furrowed brow. "That puts them well beyond the strike range of our Sirius dive bombers and Rigel torpedo bombers, even if we launched them from the Adler's forward position. We'd be sitting ducks out there."
Rear Admiral Hanzik, the logistics officer, grunted in frustration. "And with the Adler out of commission, we've lost our best chance of getting any sort of reconnaissance on the American fleet's position. We're flying blind here, and that's not a position I like to be in."
Venstrom nodded grimly. "Which means we have to assume the worst - that the Americans are already moving to intercept us and that they have a significant advantage in terms of range and striking power. We need to consider our options carefully."
Commander Eckhardt, the intelligence officer, adjusted his glasses as he spoke. "It's possible that the initial strike was a demonstration, a warning shot to force our hand. The Americans have always favored a 'speak softly and carry a big stick' approach. They might be trying to pressure us into surrender."
"Speak softly?" Hanzik scoffed. "I'd hardly call a barrage of missiles a soft statement. If that's their idea of speaking softly, I'd hate to see what happens when they decide to yell."
"The point is," Venstrom interjected, his voice stern, "that we should treat this as an opportunity to open dialogue with the Americans. Whether they intentionally withheld a strike on our fleet or are simply limited by the range of their missiles is inconsequential. The only matter of consequence now is the window of opportunity we currently have, and how we use it. I believe the best course of action here is to…” Venstrom paused, taking a look at his fellow officers to gauge their reaction, “negotiate."
"Negotiate?" Commander Talger, the weapons officer, spoke up, his tone incredulous. It seemed the implication of the term, given the circumstances, was not lost on him. "Admiral, with all due respect, the Gra Valkas Empire does not ‘negotiate’ with the enemy. We fight until victory or death. Anything less would be a betrayal of our values and our fallen comrades."
Gormund leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "And what would you suggest, Talger? That we sail directly into the teeth of the American fleet, guns blazing? We'd be sending our men to their deaths for nothing."
Talger slammed his fist on the table. "Better to die fighting than to surrender like cowards. If we give up now, we'll be forever known as the fleet that failed the Empire in its hour of need."
Lieutenant Commander Ehrlich, the damage control officer, spoke up tentatively. "If I may, sir... we have to think about the state of our ships as well. The Adler and her escorts took heavy damage, and didn’t even see a single sign of an American ship or plane. If that’s how it is; if that’s how it shall be, I’m not confident that we’ll fare any better."
Venstrom stood up, his presence commanding the room. "Enough. We are officers of the Gra Valkan Navy, and we will conduct ourselves as such. Talger, your bravery is commendable, but bravery alone will not win this war. "
He paused, looking around the room. "We have a responsibility to the men under our command, to the Empire we serve. "
Eckhardt nodded. "The Admiral is correct. We must approach this situation with logic and reason, not just emotion. The Americans have demonstrated a clear technological advantage. Ignoring that fact would be foolish and irresponsible."
Hanzik sighed, rubbing his temples. "I don't like the idea of negotiating any more than you do, Talger. To be frank, I hate it, but I hate the idea of dying for nothing even more. There is no glory in a senseless death, even less so when these deaths are a detriment to the Empire’s workforce. The war will be over someday, and how the economy fares afterward is partially up to us."
Talger looked around the room, realizing he was outnumbered. "Fine. But let the record show that I objected to this course of action."
Venstrom nodded. "Noted, Commander. But the decision ultimately rests with me."
The room was silent for a moment before Gormund spoke up. "I'm with you, Admiral. We need to think strategically, not just tactically. If negotiation can get us out of this mess, then it's an option we have to consider."
Other officers around the table nodded their agreement, some more reluctantly than others. Venstrom felt a small measure of relief. At least he had the backing of most of his command staff.
With his mind set, he first needed to let the EDI know that they were willing to negotiate with the Americans. He turned to his communications officer. “Lieutenant Morric, open a channel with Mykal.”
Author’s Note:
Want some more military vs fantasy? Check out Manifest Fantasy, my latest and highest quality work!
Read up to three weeks ahead! Chapters up to 188 are now out for corresponding Patreon tiers!
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/drdoritosmd
Discord: https://discord.gg/wr2xexGJaD
-- --
January 26, 1641
Artticus Ocean
IGVN VB-27 “Donner Squadron”
Lukas Adler banked his plane, the sleek lines of his Antares fighter cutting through the sky as he led the remnants of Donner Squadron back towards the GVS Adler. The attack run had been a grueling affair, the Muan La Burkes proving to be far more formidable than he had anticipated. Even with their superior Gra Valkan technology and training, the squadron had suffered heavy losses.
But they had struck a blow against the enemy, and that was what mattered. The sight of one of the La Burkes limping away, trailing smoke and flames, had been a balm to Adler's battered pride. These Muans, for all their vaunted American equipment, were still no match for the might of the Gra Valkas Empire.
As the GVS Adler came into view, a massive steel behemoth amidst the rolling waves, Adler felt a surge of anticipation. The carrier was a symbol of Gra Valkan power, a floating fortress from which they would launch their attacks and crush the enemies of the Empire.
He keyed his radio, following the proper protocols drilled into him through countless hours of training. "Adler Approach, Donner Leader, feet wet, in the break, over."
The response came back, crisp and efficient. "Donner Leader, Adler Approach, roger. Winds 220 at 12 knots, altimeter 2998. Deck is clear for Case I recovery. Report final, over."
"Wilco, Adler Approach. Donner Leader on final, gear down and locked, over." Adler replied, picturing the smooth glide onto the carrier's deck, the satisfying jolt as his plane caught the arresting wire.
He glanced over his shoulder, checking on the rest of his squadron as they formed up behind him. They were a sorry sight, their planes battered and scorched, but they had survived. He was about to key his radio again, to report his position on final approach, when something caught his eye. Bright lights, winking into existence on the horizon, like distant stars suddenly born in the middle of the day.
Adler frowned, squinting against the glare of the sun. The lights were moving, growing larger with each passing second. They almost looked like...
His eyes widened, a chill running down his spine as realization dawned. "Adler Approach, Donner Leader. I have visual on inbound objects, bearing 030. Appear to be missiles, over."
The response was immediate, the controller's voice now tinged with alarm. "Donner Leader, Adler Approach. Confirm missile sighting, bearing 090. Emergency procedures in effect. Break off approach and clear the area, acknowledge, over."
"Acknowledged, Adler Approach. Breaking off approach, over," Adler replied automatically, even as his mind raced with the implications. Missiles? Here? But how... and who...
His thoughts were cut off as the missiles streaked in, sudden and devastating. Brilliant flashes erupted along the length of the GVS Adler, explosions blossoming like fiery flowers as the warheads found their marks. The escort carriers flanking the Adler were hit as well, their decks and superstructures vanishing in sheets of flame.
Adler watched in stunned disbelief as the pride of the Gra Valkan Navy burned before him, the mighty carriers reduced to blazing pyres in a matter of seconds. The missiles had come out of nowhere, catching them completely off guard.
As the shock of the attack slowly gave way to a cold, simmering rage, Adler found himself grappling with the unexpected devastation. The GVS Adler, their base of operations, their very home in this hostile sea, had been crippled, perhaps destroyed outright.
And with her went their means of rearming, refueling, and repairing their planes. They were alone now, cut off from support and supply. The realization settled like a leaden weight in Adler's gut.
He circled the burning carriers, his mind spinning with questions. How could this have happened? Where had the missiles come from? And, most pressingly, where were they supposed to go now?
– –
The reports from the front lines had been encouraging, the strike group making steady progress against the enemy fleet. The Muan La Burke-class destroyers had proven to be a nuisance, but nothing that the superior training and technology of the Gra Valkan Navy couldn't overcome. Yet, the sense of foreboding was difficult to shake.
"Admiral Venstrom, sir!" The communications officer's voice was tense, edged with barely contained panic. "Urgent report from the Adler. They've been hit by missiles, origin unknown. Severe damage reported, sir."
Fleet Admiral Falke Venstrom felt his blood run cold, a sudden tightness gripping his chest. The Adler, the pride of the Second Conquest Fleet, struck by missiles? It seemed impossible, a nightmare scenario that he had hoped would never come to fruition. He turned to the officer, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside him. "Get me a full damage report, now. And find out where those missiles came from."
The damage reports began to filter in, each one more grim than the last. The Adler's flight deck was in shambles, her hangar bays a twisted ruin. Fires raged unchecked, and the ship was listing heavily, her crew fighting a desperate battle to keep her afloat. The escort carriers had fared even worse, their ammunition stores ignited by the missile impacts.
Venstrom's jaw clenched as he absorbed the news, his mind already racing ahead to the next steps. They needed to find out who was responsible for this attack, and they needed to do it fast. The Muans couldn't have this kind of capability, could they? And the Americans... no, they were still days away, according to the latest intelligence reports.
He turned to his chief of staff, Rear Admiral Gormund, who had just arrived on the bridge with an ashen face. "Gormund, I need answers. Where did those missiles come from? And how did they catch us so completely off guard?"
Gormund shook his head, his expression grim. "I don't know, sir. Our radar didn't pick up any launches, and there's no sign of enemy ships or planes in the area. It's like they came out of nowhere."
Venstrom nodded, his expression tight with barely contained frustration. There was only one possible answer. "Very well. Gather my officers in the briefing room. We need to assess the situation and decide on our next move."
Minutes later, Venstrom stood at the head of the table, his senior staff taking their seats before him. He could read the tension in their postures, the tight lines around their eyes and mouths. The shock and uncertainty that he felt were mirrored in their faces, a reflection of the grim situation they found themselves in.
"Gentlemen," Venstrom began, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside him. "As you know, the GVS Adler and her escorts have been hit by a missile attack of unknown origin. The damage is severe, and our strike group is now without air support. We need to understand what happened and adjust our strategy accordingly. Commander Eckhardt, what do we know about these missiles?"
Eckhardt leaned forward, his brow furrowed as he spoke. "Not much, sir. As Rear Admiral Gormund said, our sensors didn't pick up any launches. The missiles seemed to come out of nowhere."
Venstrom's jaw clenched. "Could it be some kind of new Elysian technology? Something we haven't encountered before?"
Eckhardt shook his head. "It's possible, sir, but unlikely. Our intelligence reports indicate that the Elysians don't possess missile technology advanced enough to evade our sensors completely."
"What about the Americans?" Venstrom asked, his mind racing through the possibilities. "Could they have developed stealth technology that our sensors can't pick up?"
"It's a possibility," Eckhardt admitted. "But even if they have, it doesn't explain how they managed to get close enough to launch without us detecting their ships or planes."
Venstrom leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed in thought. "What if they didn't need to get close?"
Eckhardt looked puzzled. "Sir?"
"Long-range missiles," Venstrom said, his voice low and tense. "If the Americans have missiles with a range greater than our scouting perimeter, they could have launched from well beyond our ability to detect them."
Eckhardt's eyes widened as he considered the implications. "If that's true, sir, then our entire fleet could be at risk. We wouldn't even see them coming."
If the missiles came from such a great distance, it would confirm his suspicions about the Fourth and Fifth Conquest Fleets. The lack of communication from them in recent weeks had been troubling, but he had held out hope that they were simply engaged in their own operations. Now, the pieces were falling into place. If the Americans could neutralize the GVS Adler so easily, it was entirely possible that they had already defeated the two conquest fleets.
The thought sent a chill down his spine. If the Americans had managed to defeat two conquest fleets in a matter of weeks, then the Gra Valkas Empire was engaging a greater threat than they had ever anticipated – a greater threat than they could hope to win against. While they were keenly aware of the technological superiority of the United States, it had always been – until now – a speck in the back of their minds. They had waved it off for so long, possibly because they didn’t like the harsh reality of the situation. And now, here they were, facing a nightmare built upon their cognitive dissonance.
Venstrom nodded grimly. "And if they can take out the Adler and her escorts so easily, it's possible they've already used these weapons against the Fourth and Fifth Conquest Fleets. That would explain the lack of communication from them."
“If that is the case, then… why haven’t they struck our fleet yet?” Gormund asked.
Venstrom considered the question. There were only two possible answers that came to mind. “Either the initial strike was a show of force and they are allowing us – even if inadvertently – the opportunity to surrender, or their missiles were launched from the furthest possible range – and as fate would have it, we are just outside of their range.”
Commander Neumark, the operations officer, quickly unrolled a large maritime chart of the region and spread it across the table. "Based on the estimated range of the American missiles, which intelligence suggests could be upwards of 1,000 nautical miles, the launch point could be anywhere within this sector," he said, tracing a large circle on the map with his finger.
Gormund leaned in, studying the chart with a furrowed brow. "That puts them well beyond the strike range of our Sirius dive bombers and Rigel torpedo bombers, even if we launched them from the Adler's forward position. We'd be sitting ducks out there."
Rear Admiral Hanzik, the logistics officer, grunted in frustration. "And with the Adler out of commission, we've lost our best chance of getting any sort of reconnaissance on the American fleet's position. We're flying blind here, and that's not a position I like to be in."
Venstrom nodded grimly. "Which means we have to assume the worst - that the Americans are already moving to intercept us and that they have a significant advantage in terms of range and striking power. We need to consider our options carefully."
Commander Eckhardt, the intelligence officer, adjusted his glasses as he spoke. "It's possible that the initial strike was a demonstration, a warning shot to force our hand. The Americans have always favored a 'speak softly and carry a big stick' approach. They might be trying to pressure us into surrender."
"Speak softly?" Hanzik scoffed. "I'd hardly call a barrage of missiles a soft statement. If that's their idea of speaking softly, I'd hate to see what happens when they decide to yell."
"The point is," Venstrom interjected, his voice stern, "that we should treat this as an opportunity to open dialogue with the Americans. Whether they intentionally withheld a strike on our fleet or are simply limited by the range of their missiles is inconsequential. The only matter of consequence now is the window of opportunity we currently have, and how we use it. I believe the best course of action here is to…” Venstrom paused, taking a look at his fellow officers to gauge their reaction, “negotiate."
"Negotiate?" Commander Talger, the weapons officer, spoke up, his tone incredulous. It seemed the implication of the term, given the circumstances, was not lost on him. "Admiral, with all due respect, the Gra Valkas Empire does not ‘negotiate’ with the enemy. We fight until victory or death. Anything less would be a betrayal of our values and our fallen comrades."
Gormund leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "And what would you suggest, Talger? That we sail directly into the teeth of the American fleet, guns blazing? We'd be sending our men to their deaths for nothing."
Talger slammed his fist on the table. "Better to die fighting than to surrender like cowards. If we give up now, we'll be forever known as the fleet that failed the Empire in its hour of need."
Lieutenant Commander Ehrlich, the damage control officer, spoke up tentatively. "If I may, sir... we have to think about the state of our ships as well. The Adler and her escorts took heavy damage, and didn’t even see a single sign of an American ship or plane. If that’s how it is; if that’s how it shall be, I’m not confident that we’ll fare any better."
Venstrom stood up, his presence commanding the room. "Enough. We are officers of the Gra Valkan Navy, and we will conduct ourselves as such. Talger, your bravery is commendable, but bravery alone will not win this war. "
He paused, looking around the room. "We have a responsibility to the men under our command, to the Empire we serve. "
Eckhardt nodded. "The Admiral is correct. We must approach this situation with logic and reason, not just emotion. The Americans have demonstrated a clear technological advantage. Ignoring that fact would be foolish and irresponsible."
Hanzik sighed, rubbing his temples. "I don't like the idea of negotiating any more than you do, Talger. To be frank, I hate it, but I hate the idea of dying for nothing even more. There is no glory in a senseless death, even less so when these deaths are a detriment to the Empire’s workforce. The war will be over someday, and how the economy fares afterward is partially up to us."
Talger looked around the room, realizing he was outnumbered. "Fine. But let the record show that I objected to this course of action."
Venstrom nodded. "Noted, Commander. But the decision ultimately rests with me."
The room was silent for a moment before Gormund spoke up. "I'm with you, Admiral. We need to think strategically, not just tactically. If negotiation can get us out of this mess, then it's an option we have to consider."
Other officers around the table nodded their agreement, some more reluctantly than others. Venstrom felt a small measure of relief. At least he had the backing of most of his command staff.
With his mind set, he first needed to let the EDI know that they were willing to negotiate with the Americans. He turned to his communications officer. “Lieutenant Morric, open a channel with Mykal.”
