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Chapter 4: Gigantic Fleet
“Mark!”
There was a split second of silence. Not a movement on the entire battlefield.
The eerie calm that hung over the air was over just as suddenly as it began. Thirty-five guns thundered their defiance. Thirty-five Imperial ships ignited into flames. One was struck in its bow, and as it was slammed sideways, it plowed through the adjacent ship; the remnants of both ships hurtled towards the ground.
The Empire was quick to respond. Even as a second volley was launched into their ranks, the Imperial ships had already sprung to life. Already, airships were pouring out of their carriers, streaming their way towards the rebel fleet. Two hundred hostile guns were being readied. Battle was about to be joined.
Paet’s voice came over the intercom again, just as calm and composed as it always was.
“This is it, captains. Pick your targets; we fight to the last! To battle!”
Just as the third round of cannon fire struck down twenty more, the Imperial ships answered.
One battleship was glanced by a shot at its helm but sustained minimal damage. Two others weren’t as lucky as they were caught by direct hits. On the flip side, all of the other shots were far misses. One missile, obviously aimed for the Naus, passed by twenty yards away.
“Bloody fuckers!” Paet thought aloud to himself. “They’re worse than I thought.”
However, he knew that in such a battle, every ship counted, and already he had lost two.
“Sir, permission to utilize side cannons! It would give us more weaponry to work with.”
It was Kylar from the Vertus.
“That’s a negative, captain. Stick to the frontal cannons. Those bastards over there have the sharpshooting skills of coolia dung, so let’s keep it that way.”
“Yes sir!”
For almost an hour, the two fleets exchanged brutal fire: Though in an advantageous position, a majority of the Imperial firepower wound up taking nothing but air. Nevertheless, one by one, the rebel ships began to fall.
The aircraft carriers had long been lost; their massive bulk was apparently perfect for Imperial target practice. The few remaining Stinger craft were desperately fighting on, swerving left and right in the air, dodging fire from their enemy counterparts.
Suddenly, a single squadron of Stingers regrouped almost directly under the Naus. Paet watched as they struggled their way towards the Imperial fleet. As an uncountable number of airships flew to meet this them, a last of the Stingers formed a protective circle around the lead wings. Wave after wave of Imperial airships broke against them, and the entire group moved together, an indomitable sphere of fiery death. They pushed on until, finally, the defensive ring was worn.
As the formation finally collapsed, the last few Stinger craft began rising in altitude, and Paet finally saw their objective. Just as they broke through the clouds, the Stingers came plummeting downwards once more, downwards, downwards into the hull of the Imperial flagship.
As a still comes before the storm, there was a moment of silence before the Empire’s lead ship detonated in a scorching blast. Paet bowed his head, uttered a silent prayer, and, to his crew and to his fleet - who were just as shocked as he was - he said:
“Honor those who have just died for this cause - this worthless cause, others may think - but not I! I fight! Those who will fight with me, onwards!”
This was answered by a ten-gun salute issuing from the last rebel ships; another ten Imperial ships ceased to exist.
The Imperial fleet was quick to reorganize after the loss of their leader, though, and they pressed the attack. The horde of airships set upon the rebels once more. Oblivious to the ships that were attacking his own, Paet watched as the crew of the battlecruiser Macran, led by Damad, fought on.
Swarms of airships blanketed the Macran such that it was almost obscured from view. Even still, Paet could glimpse the six independent - lock artillery cannons of the mighty battlecruiser, swiveling in their turrets, guns ablaze, blasting ships out of the sky.
One by one, the airships were igniting into fire, and one by one they plunged towards the earth, trailed by flame and smoke. From here, they looked hardly more than fireflies, and that was all Paet cared for them to be.
Gash was called into the Tactical Operations Room yet again. He strode through the hallways towards his destination with just as much - if not more - haste as before. This time, however, it was more from apprehension than anger. As he entered, he noticed that the room was packed. Almost every Seeker officer was already there.
“Any word from fleet command yet, Lieutenant?”
“It seems that they’ve already engaged the enemy, sir. But…”
“And how are they doing?” Gash interrupted.
“Can’t tell, sir. The holo doesn’t show. There’s far too much debris in the air for a proper reading. But that’s not the reason I sent for you, sir.”
“So there’s something more important than the Empire right now?”
His voice was cold as ice, but not intentionally.
“Actually, sir, I believe there is.”
Rennoth pointed to a formation located about a hundred miles northwest of Paet’s location.
“Can you tell me what that is, sir?”
Gash stared at the figure on the hologram, perplexed.
“A mountain?”
“Sure looks like one, sir, - a massive one - but I don’t think it was there before.”
It looked like any other mountain, but, true enough, Gash recalled that in his memory it was further towards the canyons in the northwest.
“It seems you’re right, Lieutenant. And you are suggesting what?”
Rennoth’s face was grave as he answered.
“Apparently, whatever it is… it’s moving.”
No more than seven of Paet’s ships remained, ringed in by over a hundred Imperial ships from all sides. The air was filled with the remains of the lost ships and smelt of smoke and death.
The Macran had been beset by the majority of the Empire’s airships. It was now barely discernable from a pile of sheet metal, but still operable: Captain Damad was still alive, as were his crew. Therefore, needless to say, the airships were in a far worse condition.
However, the prospect of seven ships fighting against a hundred was still morbid.
“Rebel fools! Surrender! You cannot stand against the might of the Empire! You have lost this battle; yield your ships and surrender immediately!”
Paet answered in a clear, ringing voice.
“If you wish for an easy victory, then forget about it! We still have ships, guns, and men, and we will fight until we breathe our last breath, until the very hands of death take us!”
Even now, not a heart wavered amongst the rebels. Together with Paet’s ship, they rotated sidewise, positioning their subcannons, five per ship, for a last, desperate strike.
The air was filled with ear-splitting thunder and the rebel ships fired round after round of cannon into the oncoming mass of Imperial ships; the skies rained ash and metal as ships on both sides fell.
The Imperials pressed onwards, drawing closer and closer with every second. There were no more than twenty yards from any rebel ship to the horde of enemies. At last, the battle was over. The rebel ships, diminished to a count of four, were completely surrounded. The Empire showed no mercy at this moment, and prepared to eliminate them.
Paet could see the captain on the Imperial battleship adjacent to his. He could see the light burning in his eyes as he ordered as final round to be fired.
“So this is how it ends.” Paet thought to himself. “At the least, it’s not much different from what I expected. We’ve done what we can.”
The Imperial ships prepared to fire. Even now, Paet could see the fire starting in the cannons. This was the end.
There was a blinding flash of light, a thunderous explosion. For a moment, the ship’s hull glowed a bright orange, then pure white, and, finally, the entire ship was vaporized into nothingness.
Paet had closed his eyes, in spite of himself. He opened them, shocked, and strained to see the source of the light.
It was the sun. And in the sun’s fiery aurora was the outline of a giant, winged creature. Edge had returned at last.
The explosion rocked the very core of the Imperial fleet; all its glory was suddenly lost. Three ships had been downed in a single, flaring moment.
“What the…” muttered Captain Evren of the Imperial battleship Nero as the roar of the blast died down.
The great dragon swooped downwards from its perch in the clouds, circling its way towards the center of the ring of ships, as if reaffirming its power and majesty to the Empire. Evren’s gaze was transfixed by it; her face was, at once, a mixture of terror and delight.
“Orders, Captain?” asked one of the lower officers.
“Yes,” she replied, her eyes still fixed to the dragon. “All guns on the dragon. Hold until I tell you.”
At first, Paet wondered if the battle was indeed over, and if he had joined his friends in death. But one glance out the window dissipated these thoughts. The Imperial battleship was gone, while he and the crew around him were not. And there was Edge, clutching a gun of the Ancients, and Azel behind him, riding atop the dragon!
As the dragon lowered itself next to the deck of the Naus, Paet gave them a friendly smile.
“Always happy to see you, pal.”
The dragon let out a soft croon, and seemed to smile back.
Then to Edge he called out, “Are we gonna get started on this or what?”
“Take cover, then.”
The dragon lunged forward so quickly that not even the sharpest pair of eyes noticed any movement before the nearest Imperial ship exploded into rainbow fire.
In an instant, every gun in the enemy fleet opened fire on the dragon, but to no avail.
The dragon lifted its wings upwards, and, catching an air current, soared majestically over the resulting blast. Now cold and ruthless, it rained devastation on the Imperial fleet from above. Ship after ship fell as deadly beams of light pierced their armor.
To all who witnessed the event, even Paet, the battlefield was a nightmare of fear and death as the dragon dealt justice to what was now a totally outmatched enemy. The arrival of one man and his pet dragon had transformed the event from an impossible battle for the rebels to a massacre of the Empire.
After what seemed to be an eternity, the blinding light died down. In reality, barely a minute had passed, but Paet was astounded by what he saw.
Most of the Imperial fleet had literally vanished after being overwhelmed with the dragon’s arrows of light. Whatever Imperial ships still had airborne capabilities would not have them for long as their smoking remains streamed downwards towards the earth. The half dozen ships able to do so were fleeing back in the direction from whence they came.
The rebels, stunned as they were, had won the battle. However, their losses were grievous as well. Only the Naus, the Macran, the Vertus, and the battleship known as the Grig Ale remained.
“Lieutenant,” Paet called. “Ready the airlock. We have some friendly visitors.” Moments later, Edge walked in with Azel beside him.
“What this?” Edge cried as he gave Paet a friendly embrace. “Paet of Zoah, a captain of war?”
“New Zoah,” Paet corrected.
“Yes, I’ve heard. But the odds were against you ten times over, weren’t they, old friend?”
Paet broke into a childish grin as he replied.
“I’m only running with the trend. Doing what I can, and some things I shouldn’t.”
He glanced at Azel, who gave him a silent nod and a smile.
“And what have you been up to, Edge?”
Edge, too, smiled, but humorlessly.
“I’ll tell you about it when the other Seekers are around to hear. Gash is still your leader, is he not?”
“Yes, sir, and he hasn’t changed a bit.”
Edge nodded.
“Then we’d better get back; it seems as if we have both good and bad news for him.”