Trouble In The West

[The Federation]

TROUBLE IN THE WEST

​

Sander Rygaard sat flanked by admirals and generals alike, the last few weeks had rattled him and he was tired of the constant meetings and the aura of fear that now infested the beautiful city streets of Charleroi. Where once the night was dark, spot lights and anti-aircraft guns pointed into the skies over the major coastal cities.

"God will most surely be blind now." He thought as his mind's eye pictured the spotlights. "Let him not be blind to our plight." He prayed.


..."Our military capabilities increase every week, with the approval of the new escort carriers our shipyards in Duquesne and here in Charleroi are already hard at work laying down the new ships. Our fleet carrier in Baldwin-Whitehall has been launched ahead of schedule but will not be ready for the open sea until the end of may, the Baldwin Shipbuilding Corporation is hard at work building the new destroyers we ordered a while ago. The Continental Marines are now practicing amphibious landings near Stark, the rocky beaches and seawalls there will provide them with excellent training should an assault be necessary. The fleet we prepared for the cancelled Thumantic war games are now conducting maneuvers near Baldwin as well as CAP (combat air patrols) " Vice Admiral Piett paused for questions.

"And the army?" Rygaard asked looking pensive.


General George Guyard spoke answered him, "The army is currently preparing for the high alert status, the army air force has tripled patrols of high altitude fighters, especially over our industrial centers. If the Danes are conducting reconnaissance over our territory as they were last time, they must have developed a way to become invisible to our men and our RADAR. We have several divisions now conducting training missions with the Continental Marines."

Rygaard sat up, "Good, we are prepared and we must stay ready, I will not lower our alert status until we have entered into diplomatic talks with

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itself which may be difficult now that the government has dissolved there. If speaking with their government was that hard I can only imagine how the crown handles transitions like these. Meaning it will most likely be impossible."


Admiral Jack Henriksson finally spoke up after saying nothing for almost an hour, "Mr. President?"

Rygaard turned himself to look at the Admiral, "Please Admiral, speak."

"I went ahead and ordered our submarine force into positions around the Thumantic, while leaving a nominal force here. Should war break out we can quickly cripple Danish civilian shipping and perhaps pick off straggling naval vessels."

Rygaard wasn't angry, he had trusted Henriksson to make decisions on his own many times before. "I understand. Then our primary focus shall continue to be a continued effort to resolve this diplomatically whilst silently preparing for war. I want our communications with our allies to be sparse now more than ever, other than calls for our friends to join us we keep our military movements secret, speak to nobody about our plans here and continue your movements and preparations."

 

[Hanseatic Republics]

trøbbel, trøbbel, trøbbel​

Chancellor Bakken sat down at her desk focusing on the book in front of her. Her office still needed to be made a bit more personal. She had not really had the chance to move in and really make it her own. She had an immediate hostage crisis, followed by an international trip cut short by a diplomatic crisis. It was the first real time she had to sit in front of her desk and think about the decor. This wasn't a coincidence either. The Sylvanians had been silent on military matters since initial dialogue and all she had to do was issue Foreign Minister Haavi to settle the diplomatic matters.

In some ways Solveig felt as though she had been wasting her time. Coming home to Østveg with the reasoning that war might be on the horizon and she'd be needed for a quick and important decision. Instead she could've been on a warm beach in Cantignia right now. Winter had lasted long this year. Snow was only just now deciding to disappear in some locations. Uncharacteristically cold. It snowed last week in Kristiania.

Returning her thoughts to her book she looked at the title, Et dukkehjem. Hardly a book, but an important piece of literature no doubt. It reminded her of herself. That's the only reason she had a copy in the office. A consistent reminder. Hard to believe because she'd yet to spend any real measurable time there. At least thus far, she managed to convince herself.

Seventy-two hours had passed, and she'd taken the Army off of high alert. Although the Air Force and the Navy remained vigilant. Naval patrols continued around Fey and the carrier fleet was still on its way to Sylvania. Patrols had only encountered an increase in the traffic of ships to the Færøyene, but they could not be sure of their content.

She yawned. It was late. She'd have a meeting with Her Majesty, the Queen in a relative short period time. They were to go over the nation's war readiness. The Queen enjoyed a far more busy life at the moment, with various public event in order to maintain popularity and keep a connection to the people. She'd do the same, if not for the amount of work she had to do. Perhaps with the exception of today.

Folktinget had been in a spout of debate over welfare. To institute it or not? Her party was arguing the state did not have the funds to supply such services. The Republicans urged to raise the tax. She had not chimed in yet and did not plan to until the Folkting actually seemed to think they'd actually vote on a measure in relation to it.

Sleepy, she leaned under her table lamp and opened her book. A little reading wouldn't hurt while she waited for the Queen. "(En hyggelig og smakfullt, men ikke kostbart innrettet stue. En dør til høyre i bakgrunnen fører ut til forstuen; en annen dør til venstre i bakgrunnen fører inn til Helmers arbeidsværelse. Mellem begge disse døre et pianoforte. Midt på veggen til venstre en dør og lenger fremme et vindu. Nær ved vinduet et rundt bord med lenestole og en liten sofa. På sideveggen til høyre, noe tilbake, en dør, og på samme vegg, nærmere mot forgrunnen en stentøysovn med et par lenestole og en gyngestol foran. Mellem ovnen og sidedøren et lite bord. Kobberstikk på veggene. En etagère med porselensgjenstande og andre små kunstsaker; et lite bokskap med bøker i praktbind. Teppe på gulvet; ild i ovnen. Vinterdag.)"

 

[The Federation]

LOG OF CAPTAIN RODERICK SACKVILLE
NAVY CRUISER THUNDERCHILD
CONTINENTAL NAVY OF SYLVANIA

I can still hear the ringing sound in my ears, from our thunder; our main guns firing endlessly at the beach. Today was the second amphibious landing we've conducted this month, the last ending in almost complete disaster. This one went alright, though if we are ever to get the navy and our men in the corps ready for the real thing then I predict we will conduct at least four more landings before we can safely say we are ready to storm the craggy beaches of Faerorne. Faerorne has invaded my dreams and almost every calm waking moment I have on this ship; should we truly be tasked with taking the archipelago then our troubles will be much worse than having to be victorious. The might of the Danish war machine scares me more than anything and ours is barely up to the task as of yet, I fear we may win the islands and then soon find ourselves trapped by the sudden appearance of a Danish war fleet, a war for Faerorne cannot be won by Sylvania alone. Thankfully we have allies, but when the time comes, will the Austwegians readily make their flesh and blood available to our cause? I have my doubts, but I'll reserve my judgement until the hour of war is at hand.

The marines are a hardy bunch, bred for war by a nation that hasn't fought one in one hundred years. They want this; to bathe in the blood of the Dane and watch their civilians cower before them, broken and beaten. They were made for amphibious operations and yet until a few weeks ago their tactics and plans have only existed on paper. I should be thankful though and they as well, if it wasn't for Rygaard being struck with this bout of paranoia My ship, crew and myself were all slated for retirement, this influx of government cash has been beneficial to us all and has done well to light a fire under the parochial ass of the Navy brass. Hopefully the vision of those strategists that came before us, sidelined by government indifference will come in handy now.

The landing itself was so-so, it took well over the time theoretically needed to establish a beachhead, but one was established despite the odds, the weather worked against us but I think it does us well to work in these choppy waters, Faerorne is known for its sudden bouts of bad weather and we may face that should a landing be called for. My crew has become exceedingly efficient at putting shells down range, our suppressive fire will overwhelm anyone who is targeted by it and should the other ships get as good as us then the Danes will not stand a chance at repelling our bloodthirsty marines from the beach. A total of 90,000 men were allotted for this operation, that's almost half of the corps leaving out navy personnel and it's a lot of lives at stake, that's why we have to get the foundation of amphibious operations down here in friendly waters or else all will be lost before it even potentially starts.

My own hopes are to avoid war, however I can't help but feel my pride swell up in my chest at the thought of going toe to toe with Danish ships or bringing down Thunderchild's murderous thunder around the Danes ears. Until then, we train.

END LOG ENTRY 4,643

​

​

 

[The Federation]

May 9th, 1953


"It's time to give real consideration to the Sea Storm Option. The Danes have no intention of drawing up a plan for peace, they waste their time with the Ivernians when they should be negotiating with us. Truly they do not see peace as a serious option," Admiral Jack Henriksson said, his voice low and serious.

Vice Admiral Piett nodded in agreement, "We can no longer sit around and wait, having the Navy and the Marines and this high of an alert status for so long is going to cause the people to question us, and it gives our enemies more time to scout out our capabilities, if they haven't already. With the possibility of the Fennians becoming a problem for our Austwegian allies, we can no longer wait to neutralize Danish power in Occidentia."

President Rygaard shift worriedly in his chair, "we all understand what the risks of the Sea Storm Option is right? This could possibly spark a global conflict."

The military men and politicians all shook their heads in quiet understanding. "Our submarine service is ready to strike at any time, but their ability to stay at sea will be diminished if we wait any longer. Our Implarian asset should be close to completion," Admiral Henriksson relayed, breaking the silence.


"Our Implarian asset?" Rygaard said in surprise, "I thought we had put that out of our minds. I have serious reservations about the Implarian portion of the Sea Storm Option. It seems like an unnecessary escalation of an already precarious situation. The potential for blowback is tremendous!"

"Aye, but should it work and, mind you, there is a high chance of success, the pressure would be taken off of us by several factors and make our own operations in the Thumantic that much easier," Piett countered.

"There is still the matter of Congress," Henriksson reminded the other men.

Rygaard once again shifted uncomfortably in his chair before answering, "Congress has been ready to vote on the war measure for a long while now, I and my allies in congress have been stalling until we were sure that a vote needed to take place. Naturally and, I say this with shame, things like the Implarian Asset will be cut from the actual declaration. I still wish to wait just one more day before making the final call. In the mean time make the necessary preparations once I am sure of my decision a vote will most likely be ready closer to the end of this month."

The men stood and nodded, they did not need to reassure Rygaard that they could and would be ready by then, most of the assets needed for the operation had been slowly collected and activated over the past two months since the spy plane incident. Regardless Rygaard sat quietly in his chair, contemplating the life changing decision he needed to make. "I suppose I won't be sleeping tonight," he said aloud to the empty room.

 

[The Federation]

May 10th, 1953



Director Elliot Faulkner sat on the opposite side of the President's desk smoking a cigar, he could tell by just looking at Rygaard that he did not sleep the night before. It was obvious the choices he had to make weighed heavily upon his mind. "It is your call Sander, we don't have to do anything that you don't approve of," Faulkner reminded him. Elliot Faulkner had been Director of Defense for almost ten years now, he had served with the previous president before Rygaard and his stellar performance in the past is what got him the job a second time. Rygaard trusted him to give him the truth when he was surrounded by others who had agendas to think of.

"Nobody will think any less of you if we decide to wait this out. In my own opinion the Danes don't have to guts to go toe to toe with us, even with the advantages they might have," Faulkners words cut through the silence like a sharp knife. Minutes passed as the room grew quieter and quieter, Faulkner stared at the President, Rygaard's gaze was fixed to the desk in front of him and he had not looked up in what felt like ages, Faulkner wasn't sure he was getting through to the man and it didn't look like he would get through him for long time.

Faulkner continued to smoke his cigar, the smoke itself began to create a haze in the room adding to the feeling of a mental fog separating the two men, "perhaps we can talk about this later, Henriksson can wait for his answer." Faulkner started to get up from his chair but seated himself when he found the President had finally looked up at him.

"You'll be flying to Kristiania tomorrow," Rygaard said dryly.

"Oh?" Faulkner quickly replied, surprise apparent in his voice.

"Yes, you will need to advise them of the Sea Storm Option."

"So you have decided then?" Faulkner asked, suddenly feeling stupid. "A..Are you sure about this, Sander?"

Rygaard stood up from his desk, "Of course I am, I wouldn't make such an order if I wasn't sure."

"I see." It was obvious to Faulkner that there would be no more discussion on the subject of the Sea Storm Option. He put out his cigar and stood up from his chair, lingering for a second in case Rygaard said something else. "I'll inform the Chiefs of your decision then."

Faulkner had left quickly, almost fleeing the feeling of dread that now pervaded the room. The last glimpse Faulkner took before closing the door saw Rygaard standing motionless, his hands on the desk and his gaze once again on the wood of the desktop.

 

[The Federation]

May 11th, 1953



After Faulkner's meeting with Rygaard, Faulkner had reported to Admiral Henriksson the President's decision. After that a flurry of military officers from all branches had begun to write out the orders that would orchestrate the next moves Sylvania would take against Danmark. Meanwhile Faulkner had gone home to hastily pack for his trip to Ostveg, no doubt they would be surprised by his sudden visit, but communicating through telegram or phone was not safe, especially when it came to these plans. Faulkner had arrived in Baldwin-Whitehall to take the newly created direct flight to Kristiania when he was suddenly approached by a police officer while walking toward the large aircraft.

"Sir! Director Faulkner, Sir!" The officer ran up to Faulkner after seeing him walking toward the awaiting flight, "Sir, the President tasked us to deliver to you a message before you left. Thank God I found you."

Faulkner saw that the officer had a picture of him in his hand, he had wondered how the man had known who he was. The officer handed him a slip of paper and Faulkner quickly stepped aside and read it to himself, it read: "Cancel the Sea Storm Option, Defense Director and Joint Chiefs must return to Charleroi at once." - President Rygaard

Faulkner was surprised that he had gone back on his decision, such a thing rarely happened with a man as consistent as Rygaard. He looked back at the officer, "Thank you officer, you may go now." The officer left as quickly has he had appeared and Faulkner made his way back to the terminal to speak with an Trans-Occidental agent. Within the hour he was on a flight heading back to Charleroi and for the President's office to find out just what was going on.

 

[The Federation]

June 11th
Charleroi
0130




Charleroi was a beautiful city during the day, full of smiling people and cheerful sounds, but at night it took on a darker, more sinister characteristic. It didn't help that it was raining, the thunder and lightning adding to the tense, secretive atmosphere of the city at night. At night the smiling people and cheerful sounds turned into huddled, shifty characters and frightening ambient noise, it was in this dark atmosphere that a figure walked through the rain, umbrella in hand. Passersby stole glances as the figure moved through the streets, but the figure ignored their curious, suspicious stares. It took some time for the figure to reach its destination; a club simply named the Blue Room that sat at the end of Elyse Avenue. The figure entered and was bathed in the light of the bar revealing a woman whose face would be familiar in the political circles of Charleroi, but here she was just another person dressed for a night at the club. The woman sat down at the bar, the club was quiet but for a piano and an accompanying singer preforming quietly on the stage a sad piece that fit the rainy mood of the city. Taking a cigarette from a case in her purse, the woman began smoking as she took a look at the drinks menu and the ordered her drink.

In this place, it felt as if time stood still, as the patrons lazily drank themselves into oblivion, the weather had sucked out any atmosphere this place may have had on any other night. This did not matter to the woman, however, for she was not here to be entertained or to forget the pains brought on by the daylight hours. A rough voice coming from a man that had just sat next to the woman caused her to perk up, " Are you Autumn?" The man with the rough voice asked. The woman now known to be Autumn turned to the man and looked him over, he was obviously a bookish type, his clothes and hair in a perpetually messy state. Autumn nodded a nod of affirmation to the man's question, preferring to continue sipping at her beverage. She turned to face her body to him and looked directly into his eyes, she could tell this made the man uncomfortable.

The man continued to speak after a few awkward seconds, his words stuttered as they came out of his mouth. "I'm Mar..."

"Marlon Daugherty, I know who you are and it is a pleasure to meet you," Autumn said as she cut him off. She was amused by how timid he was in person, from reading his articles in the Tribune Review he was known to be a raving nationalist who advocated every chance he got a more imposing and aggressive Sylvanian foreign policy.

Marlon scratched the back of his head for a few seconds, looking down, "Nice to meet you Ms. Vi.."

"First name only please," she said smiling a smile that made the man blush. "I am a fan of your writing, Mr. Daugherty, I have read every one of your articles in the Tribune."

"Re..really? Gee, thanks. I never though I'd have the chance to meet you, you are one of my heroes besides the President himself. Hopefully one day the Tribune will see my worth as a reporter and assign me to government press corps."

Autumn leaned forward to touch the back of his hand, "I could see it happening Marlon, you have a promising career so far."

Marlon blushed an even deeper red as she touched him, "I..I..I..Thank you, so much. I don't me..mean to be rude, but why are we meeting here at such an hour?"

"Direct and to the point! I like that in a man," Autumn replied staring right into his eyes, "I have information for you that may be of use to your promising career and should you succeed in the task I have for you, I see many more opportunities for career advancement." Autumn took Marlon's hand and shoved a large envelope of paper into it, "Take this, spin it to your country's advantage, do what you do best, Marlon. I am counting on you."

Marlon took the envelope and went to open it when suddenly Autumn snatched it back, "Not here!" She said in an annoyed, hushed tone, "Read it tomorrow. Now go."

Marlon Daugherty did as he was told after she handed the envelope back to him, as he exited, Autumn ordered another drink and took in the soft singing of the performer. Outside the storm continued to rage and the mood in the city continued to grow darker and darker as the night went on.

 

[The Federation]

Previously, May 11th
Charleroi
1624

Nobody would know how close Sylvania had come to war on this day, the gears had begun to turn but the brakes where immediatelyput on. Nobody knew why Rygaard had suddenly changed his mind and Rygaard would not say why, they could only hear the muffled voices of Admiral Henriksson, the hawk who had almost convinced Rygaard the need for war, and Rygaard argue with each other through the closed oak door. The argument was intense, Elliot Faulkner and Autumn Viklund stood outside trying to get an inkling of the conversation, but it was no use; they had never heard Rygaard get this angry with someone, the man hardly raised his voice in anger to anyone. Suddenly the door flew open and Admiral Henriksson burst through the doorway as Rygaard's voice began to carry out into the hall.

"YOU ARE RELIEVED OF YOUR COMMAND!" Rygaard yelled.

Elliot and Autumn stood there stunned along with the rest of the office clerks who had also begun to crowd around the door. Rygaard stormed up to the doorway, "The plans are cancelled! Return to your departments and to your duties. Sara! Cancel all of my engagements today!" The door slammed shut and that was the last they heard of the President for the rest of the day.


June 11th
20 miles West of Montour
0700

Jack Henriksson walked the shoreline taking in the sights and smells of the beach, it was cold this morning, but the jacket he wore kept him warm and dry. He thought back to that day in May, where he had been stripped of his rank, of his life. What those not privy to the meeting did not know was, that it was all a ruse, a greater plan set out by the President himself. It was on that day that a Sylvanian intelligence department had been created and Jack Henriksson had been given command of it. Something like this had never happened in all of Sylvanian history, but the times called for it and they were far behind other, more sinister nations. The sun shined in the morning blue sky and all was right with Henriksson's world, he couldn't have predicted that it would come to this, but nonetheless he was happier for it. As he walked a concrete structure could be seen in the distance, one could get to it through private roads, but Jack preferred to walk and let his legs stretch as it would be sometime before he could enjoy the morning air again and if that time came, where he could once again see the sky over his homeland, it would a different sky to a different world.

The concrete structure was more visible now as he came up on it, half out and half into the ground, water flowed into it. A submarine pen, where inside sat two submarines that had quietly been stricken from the Continental Navy's registry. Jack Henriksson would command one of these majestic underwater vessels, command it to change the world for the good of all freemen. A jeep approached Jack as he walked and two men in plain clothes exited the vehicle to greet him. They exchanged their hello's and told him they where here to escort him to his new home, Henriksson simply nodded in affirmation to their words and entered the jeep with them. The ride to the pen was short and as they entered the garage door all was revealed to him. The submarine he would be taking had just been completed preparations for the mission, all names, identifiers, placards and anything else that could be traced back to Sylvania easily had been removed from the beast that lazily sat in the water before him. One of the men had asked him what he would call his newest vessel and he replied; "It has no name, just as we will have no names." The men crowded around him to hear him speak, "Men, these times will dictate how we change the world for the better, success in our mission will ensure that our homeland grows in strength and power, current events could not have gone any better for what we are about to do, for the fire we are about to spark. The witch is dead and we will make sure her minions play to our tune!" He turned to the submarine and pointed, "MEN, PREPARE FOR LAUNCH!"

The men began to scurry about preparing to get underway, the nameless sub sat quietly, awaiting its journey to the sea.

 

[The Federation]

June 13th
Passing Touzenese Outer Islands
2350

Jack Henriksson was back where he belonged, commanding his own vessel. The threshing of the engines calmed him and kept away any worries he may have had about the upcoming operation. As he rattled off orders his first officer repeated them to the corresponding crewman; the crew themselves had been hand picked and had fallen in well with each other. They were a well oiled machine and the only thing that could stop them now was the will of God himself. Soon they would be passing into enemy territory and he needed to speak to his men before such a time had come to pass, when silence would be needed and stealth would be paramount. Henriksson walked over to the intercom and picked up the microphone to speak to his crew.

"Now here this, we are at the forefront of history, if we fail then many will suffer back home, if we succeed then the right people will suffer and we will be that much safer for it. Many of you have expressed how undemocratic and underhanded this mission, this new organization we are part of is. I say to you, if we allowed ourselves to think whether this is right or wrong, what would we as a people choose? It is my theory that undemocratic and underhanded tactics must be used in the shadows to protect our homeland's democracy, sometimes men must make hard choices, being in this vessel right now is a hard choice that we have all made and there is no going back now. So, as we move forward we must remember why we are doing this, think of your wives, your girlfriends, your children, your parents, think of your next door neighbor and his family, think of what we can do for them so that they can continue to live free. We know where our orders will take us, what they require us to do. Do not dwell on them until it is time to act, for if you do your thoughtful hesitation will be our undoing."

A click sounded the end of his speech, silence had fallen over the submarine and there silence would remain for the duration of the journey.

 

[The Federation]

June 21st
Crownsreign
0830


Jack Henriksson and his nameless crew had finally made it to their destination, the going had been slow and it had take almost a week to reach the Bay of Crownsreign. At first the crew had felt elated at their successful and covert journey, but they soon felt disappointment and then anxiousness.

"Up periscope!" Henriksson called. Their hopes of Danish ships being amongst the many nations now populating the bay with their military and civilian vessels had been dashed, instead an interesting hodgepodge of Potenzan, Eiffelanden and a lone Havenite destroyer had been sighted as their nameless sub prowled the waters of Crownsreign Bay. The mission had been simple, successfully infiltrate the bay during the disarray now enveloping the Friendly Confines, lure the Danes into conflict with another nation and their secondary objective: prove that they could utilize stealth in the most literal meaning of the word.

The plan had been executed flawlessly up until now, unfortunately the intelligence was not as accurate as previously thought, but Henriksson would not give up, he would prove to Rygaard that he could indeed lure two nations or more into a war with each other using Sylvania's new covert organization an organization that still had no name, but was rapidly becoming well equipped as the weeks went on. This submarine had been lent to them and struck from the registry scrubbed of anything that could easily identify that this was indeed a submarine from Sylvania.

Henriksson had every intention of making the trouble of setting up the ruse he had carefully created worth his while, worth the while of Rygaard and the men they had personally chosen for this mission. If he failed only he and Rygaard would know of it. Henriksson continued to look at the array of ships before him, the flags of Potenza, flapping in the wind, dominated the others in their sheer number. He had his target, a small Potenzan destroyer, separated from the fleet.

The approach officer took over at the periscope, "range to target: 1000 yards."

The approach officer began to coordinate with the plot officer and other crew members critical to the attack phase as they began the calculations necessary for a successful torpedo attack. I ttook only a few minutes as the gathered the necessary angles, speeds, ranges and heights for their shooting solution and soon the moment that would change history came about as the order fell upon Henriksson to make.

"Shoot" and again "Shoot"

Two torpedoes were ejected from their tubes into the open ocean and began the journey of death toward the Potenzan ship. Henriksson would wait until the final moment, he had to see, before they dived deeper into the ocean to make their escape or again, set up for attack. The crew around him made their diving preparations as the torpedoes arced toward their target...


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, [MENTION=11]Eiffelland[/MENTION]

 

[Potenza]

The Potenzan destroyer Nembo was out on the front of the fleet, towards the south, as the convoy began to leave Crownsreign bay. There were three destroyers in all, guarding the various civilian crafts that had been commandeered by the Royal Navy to assist in the evacuation operations. They would move out of the bay, turn around the Queen Catherine Islands, and head to Port Arturo, where the refugees would be temporarily stationed.

The fleet was commanded by Contrammiraglio Ronaldo Baggio, up ahead in the Lampo, the Ostro to his northern flank. Nembo was commanded by Tenente di Vascello Massimo Ambrosini. It was a Freccia class destroyer, not exactly the top of the line in Europe, but it served the Grand Duchy well in cases such as this. Ambrosini, as far as commanders went, was not the top of the line. He had just commanded his ship to stray a little bit further, breaking their sweep, and had gone out on the deck of the ship, desiring to get a good look at the Cantigian coastline before they were finally gone from it.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he said, "A pity we have to leave it in such chaos. If I were the Grand Duke, I would have at least claimed a bit of territory."

An inferior officer came out, looking a bit nervous as he said in a low voice, "Sir? Contrammiraglio is wondering why we're moving away from the rest of the fleet."

"It's just for a bit!" Ambrosini retorted. "It's not as if we're complete away."

"SIR! TORPEDO!"

"Balderdash," Ambrosini said, "who would torpedo us out here?"

"NO SIR! LOOK!"

Ambrosini looked out, and saw that indeed there were two streams, headed right for the destroyer.

"San Luca save us!" Ambrosini turned and headed for the bridge, shouting for the ship to begin the zig-zag formation. The Nembo swerved hard, going full speed, trying to turn in the direction the subs were fired from. The first torpedo passed by harmlessly, going on. The second one, however, propelled on, and smacked hard at the end. An explosion erupted in the back of the destroyer, and a few seconds later it was already starting to tilt backwards.

A few seconds later, Baggio, located on his bridge, was receiving input that the Nembo had been hit and was taking on water quickly. The crew were shocked, but Baggio quickly leapt into action: he radioed the Ostro, giving the coordinates for the Nembo's location and ordering an immediate urgent attack. He ordered the Lampo spun around, moving to the east, while he had the Ostro turn around the other side of the civilian ships, moving towards the Nembo's location. The Lampo would swing towards the Nembo's north, Baggio ordering the soundman to begin sweeping the area for any possible contact, hoping they could make it in time to cut off whatever it was that had attacked the Nembo. The Lampo had been a few miles from the Nembo, and it would most likely be several minutes before they could gain any leverage in space. Both the Lampo and the Ostro moved in a zig-zag formation, their watchmen keeping an eye on the terrain between the Nembo and the convoy, hoping to prevent any possible attack against the civilian crafts. Both ships' crews hoped and prayed that whatever they were fighting against wouldn't have the nerve to attack civilian crafts.

 

[The Federation]

At least one of the torpedoes hit home, fires raged and the ship they had just attacked began to sink into the waters, but there was no time to dwell on their successes, the Potenzan ships had begun to turn toward them and establish control of the situation.

"DIVE! DIVE! DIVE!" The submarine lurched as they began diving and turning hard to starboard toward the exit of the Crownsreign bay and back into the open sea. Henriksson and his men held on as the dive was completed, the floor underneath them becoming harder to stand upon as they turned to escape.

"Rig for silent running" commanded Henriksson, the order was repeated and the compartments began their procedures to prepare to be submerged for some time, they could stay underwater on battery power for 48 hours, they hoped that as they attempted to escape the Potenzans, who had yet to locate them, that they would not need to resurface.

"Plot a course for home." The order was repeated with an aye. Henriksson could feel the adrenaline surging through his veins, the battle had lasted for them only seconds, but up on the surface the battle still raged on for the Potenzans. He celebrated in his head his successful attack, yet he continued to remind himself that he was not out of the frying pan just yet. At home nothing but the dark and dank sub pen was waiting for them, no parades or medals, no cheering young women or approving looks from the crowd. If he escaped, nothingness would be his life, a far departure from his previous life as an admiral. He was happy to have it either way, but only if he could live long enough to get through this day.

 

[Potenza]

Baggio was leaning over the shoulder of the sound man, who was pressing his headphones tight as he listened for any sign of anything. They could see a plane, and so it couldn't have been a plane. There were no other ships seen above the surface. This could only mean one thing: submarine. The crew of the Lampo were on high alert, ready to spring into action as soon as Baggio gave the order.

"Sir," said an inferior officer, "the Ostro are reporting. They're nearing the Nembo and will see what they can do."

"Very good," said Baggio, turning back to the sonar, "anything?"

"Not yet, sir."

The Lampo could have never guessed, of course, that they were actually going right over the Sylvanian vessel. However, the submarine had gone into silent running, and the advanced engineering of the submarine did not mix well with the now antiquated equipment of the Potenzan destroyer. There was a very, very good chance the Sylvanians would escape without a single sign being given to the Potenzans. In the meantime, Baggio intended to continue the zigzag motion a few more miles, then turn and move back towards the fleet a few miles ahead, in a sweeping motion.

 

[The Federation]

The submarine had been rigged for silent running, the propellers moving slowly, their advance toward the exit to Crownsreign bay had been a snail's pace. Non-essential systems had been shut down, the engines now running on battery power and the crew hardly moving, either resting in their respective compartments or sweating it out as they attempted to stealthily escape from the now pursuing Potenzan vessels. The SONAR operated had been watching the Potenzan vessel sail right over top of them, the noisy destroyer revealing its position to them. The tension in the control room had been off the scale, everyone glanced at the ceiling of the room as if to attempt to see through the metal up to the Potenzan ship now prowling up above them.

They could not stay here forever though, Henriksson knew that without a doubt and nobody knew how long the Potenzans would search for them. He whispered into the ears of the steering operators ear, "turn right to one-three-five degrees." The turn would take them to the south east back toward Vesper and deeper into Crownsreign Bay, he hoped the Potenzans would assume that they were attempting to escape back into the open ocean, if they could lose them here they could travel south west and out around the southern portion of Cantignia.

 

[Potenza]

Nothing was picked up on the sonar, and Baggio was certain it wasn't on any fault of the sound man's part. They reached their destination, and the Lampo was ordered to turn up and around, moving north, trying to cut off the submarine from any possible, unaware that the submarine was actually headed in the opposite direction.

Meanwhile, the Ostro had arrived and pulled alongside the Nembo. Tenente di Vascello Fulgosi Cigala, captain of the Ostro, got off and personally boarded the Nembo to assess the situation. The storage space and steering gear had been struck, which meant the Nembo was dead in the water, and taking on water. Most of the storage compartments, in fact, had already been flooded, as Ambrosini had delayed in sending down crew to contain it. Cigala deemed that the ship was most likely unsalvageable, and would have to me

Four crew members, it was discovered, had died in the attack. Three of them had been crew members off shift and sleeping in the rear crew quarters, while the fourth was the chef, in the storage compartments checking on food supplies for the next few weeks. Several other crew members, who had been relaxing in their quarters, were severely wounded, and were the first evacuated off the Nembo and onto the Ostro. Evacuations were being made now, with a third of the Nembo crew collecting and salvaging important documents and material. Ambrosini, who sensed that Cigala now had things under control, abandoned the ship and brought himself onto the Ostro, letting his peer now command two ships at once.

 

[The Federation]

They had escaped the pursuing vessels with a little bit of cunning and misdirection, unfortunately they would need to go around all of southern Cantignia to make it to the rendezvous point were a tanker would be waiting for them so they could refuel and there was a chance that they could get stranded if they did not wait for them. By the time they made it though news of their success would be in papers across the world, or so Henriksson had hoped. He wanted their mission to be a success as much as possible and prove to Rygaard that a secret organization like the one he had proposed would be created, an organization without public oversight, morality and politics getting in the way.

By the time they had resurfaced and switched back to diesel power it was night time and they were protected by the darkness that enveloped them. Henriksson stood atop the conning tower and watched as the moon rose high in the sky. It would take them at least seven days to get home, that was if the fueling ship they had set up for them waited for them to arrive. The diversion around the south of Cantignia could cost them several more days in travel time if the did not wait, but it was necessary to escape the Potenzan destroyers that had inadvertently been pursuing him. He could still feel the effects of the adrenaline that had coursed through his veins only hours ago as the Potenzan destroyer passed right above them, but he could not dwell for long, he still had a course for home to plot and a tanker to meet. As they sailed along, he thought to himself, names for this new secretive organization, perhaps it did not need a name...

 

[Potenza]

They had combed the area...nothing. Baggio slammed his fist against the wall in a show of anger that had been building up for the past several minutes. It was looking more and more like whatever had attacked the Nembo was now gone. What was this dastardly beast that had arisen against the ocean and attacked them? And if it was so powerful as to rise up, destroy a ship, and sink back down, why had it not attacked any of the other destroyers? Why had it not gone after the civilian craft? Why had it not pursued any other vessel? Why were the Potenzans targeted? This didn't many any sense.

"Ostro has evacuated everyone off the Nembo," came the report, "wounded and dead as well."

Baggio nodded, sighing as he stepped out of the bridge and looked out across Crownsreign Bay, to the shape of a destroyer's stern rising out of the water. Slowly it sank, bubbling about it as the air fought to escape, the sea swallowing up a vessel that had once been part of the Royal Navy of the Grand Duchy of Potenza. No flag flew from her, as it had been taken down once the order was given to scuttle her. Baggio slowly formed a salute as he watched it disappear. The only thing on his mind, as the bubbles became the only thing left to be seen before they too disappeared, was what awaited him and his crew once they returned to Potenza.

***

They say that when it gets tense in a room, you can cut it with a knife. At times, however, there is a tenseness so great that even a knife will not do it. This was the case in the meeting room at the royal palace in San Salvo, where there sat the Potenzan minister of defense, Sergio Mattarella, and several admirals and high ranking members of the Potenzan Royal Navy. At the head of the table was Grand Duke Guido III himself, laying back in his chair. His good leg was crossed over his bad one, his left arm laid on the armrest while his right arm reached out from the chair and rested its hand upon the handle of his cane. His dark eyes were staring at the end of the table, though this was only to avoid eye contact with any of the men in his room. The dark pupils had a gleam in them, not from any kind of joy but from the fire that rested in them. The head of the Grand Duchy of Potenza had just arrived a moment ago, but had not spoken since then. Now, all the men present realized that he was not in a good mood. Guido III was not the kind of grand duke who shouted at his inferiors...but they knew darn well when he was upset.

The admirals nearly jumped out of their uniforms when he finally spoke:

"I would like someone to explain to me why there is now one less destroyer in the Royal Navy's registry."

One admiral timidly spoke up, "Well, an unidentified submarine attacked the fleet as it was leading the refugees out of Crownsreign Bay, and-"

"I read the report," the grand duke interrupted, "tell me why this occurred. Why were there not more ships involved? Why were the other destroyers not able to find and sink a single submarine?"

"It was an evacuation procedure," another admiral explained, not that many ships were needed."

"Clearly they were."

"We didn't expect an attack."

At this, Guido III raised his eyes and leaned forward to the admiral who had spoken, showing no emotion as he said, "And yet clearly, you should have. Tell me, is the Francis II safe?"

There was a stuttering from most of those in the room (except for Mattarella, who was keeping silent), until finally one answered, "Yes, she should be fine..."

"I can't accept fine right now," Guido III said, "'fine' is what put us in this predicament. I will not have one of our two aircraft carriers sunk by another random attack. Send a squadron of destroyers to meet with her, and bring her safely home. I will not accept any problems with this. And I'd like to know if there's any indication of who led this attack?"

"Not at the moment," said the defense minister, finally speaking up, "however, we are working with the foreign affairs ministry to see if any threats have been made through out embassy or other networks."

"Good," said the grand duke, "I'm very happy to hear that. In the meantime, let us speak about which heads will roll..."