AROUND THE SAME TIME

THE CASTELFORTE

Warping on top of the Metropolitan fleet on the way to Lübeck happened to be a chance opportunity. Similarly, despite wasting precious time permitting my fleet to relax we were still able to get the element of surprise albeit with a little difficulty. And as for the third time…

Reclining into my chair, I close my eyes and rub my scar tissue. Well, it was certainly not a case of there being a ‘third times the charm’. In the end, the enemy managed to reach their Baltit host in the nick of time—and that proved troublesome. Although I intercepted a transmission intended for the Lübeck task force I spared earlier, I was surprised the mother Federation flotilla refers to me as a phantom enemy. It gives me a dash of reassurance that this will not be in total vain.

Having reclined into my chair, I sit up straight when a subordinate finishes the flight of stairs that connects my deck to the bridge’s nucleus. The poor boy has been doing this continuously ever since we have engaged the skirmish line earlier. It’s unfortunate, but it’s a task that somebody has to do. All I can do is silently acknowledge him for his steadfast duty, “Madame! A request from our right flank…”

The right wing? Tilting my head the name of the one who leads the right wing escapes my mind. In my haste to pursue the shattered remnants of the Ides squadron I was unable to reorganize my forces properly. I know for a fact Sergi is positioned on the left, but I cannot recall where Olga wounded up being, “refresh my memory, boy, by whom is the flank being led by?”

“Richter is at the forefront of the right wing—he believes that by expanding to match the Federation’s lines we can push through their thin numbers and cut them off from retreating to Side Malabo,” when he finishes I get up to stretch for a second, and stroll over to get a view of the bridge.

“…Richter… was that a man under Olga?” The boy nods, and I scoff much to the sudden flinch of the subordinate “I suppose even Olga’s assertive nature rubs off on them,” I remark peering at the holographic display of the immediate battle-lines. I can squint hard enough to make out a single ship other than my own tagged as JAGUAR— Olga’s Taiga— a little ahead of the Castelforte in what hypothetically would be the center-right of our phantom force.

“Richter’s idea can be risky…” I muse, and the boy steps closer to listen in “judging from the looks of the Federation force not yet engaged, Richter’s assumption seems correct,” I point out to the young man the Federation still half-enveloping Side Baltit, “we have drawn away the force engaging us now, and if Richter or Olga cuts through the Federation’s left wing, it is indeed possible to throw the besieging ship flotilla into disarray… and if my moronic brother times his sortie just right, we may be able to crush this flotilla altogether, but…” I trail off with a frown.

“But…?” The young subordinate echos and I point to the bottom of the map projector.

“That just assumes we have a friendly fleet harbored still… hm? Operator! Put on a display of the Side’s entrance,” I shout to one of the bridge staff who is quick to display an enlarged video feed. To a crowd of remarks and noises, there is a flow of shuttles exiting the Baltit— all of Federation design. Some have markings that send a chill down my spine—those are Legionnaire assault vessels.

I bite down on my lip. Anger, sorrow, despair all flow through me at once. My head becomes lighter, and I can’t help but bang on the railing with a clenched fist. Damn it all to hell! “Was I too late?!” I utter out of anger “did my idiotic brother—were our men fall to the Federation dogs?!” I rub my face to calm down the intense pain that reverberates from agitated scar tissue.

This would’ve never happened if that idiotic father had stationed Che here in Valspon! In frustration, I rub my head and grab a handful of hair. Worried, the subordinate dares to approach me and calls out my name nervously. I move towards the subordinate and yank him towards me by the collar, who lets out a startled cry, “has there been ANY communication with the Baltit garrison?” The frightened boy shakes his head with fear and I push him to the floor, “then the Baltit is lost. We only have one chance at this! I’m permitting Richter to go through with his plan. All ships under Olga are to support Richter’s squadrons and push the Federation back—we’ll knock the Federation out in one go!”

It can’t be helped. If I cannot rely on a sortie from the Baltit, we’ll just have to rely on our phantom movements!

Richter’s plan proceeds well. The Federation left wing put up a noble fight—I can only commend them for having more of a spine than their counterparts at Ides. However, because Olga and the center put enormous pressure on the center, the Federation was unable to maintain their left wing and thus perished. Richter’s force to press the advantage, but…

While we enjoyed success on our right flank, the left flank was far less successful. The left wing, being led by Sergi, was not as reliable in closing the gap and forcing the Federation’s right wing into close quarters. And this proved to be the undoing of our efforts.

Eventually, the disengaged Federation armada at Baltit began the process of withdrawing from the Baltit… and frantically turning around to reinforce their units in battle, and that was making me increasingly anxious.

“If the Federation can reinforce their right wing…” I remark out-loud “—then that can be dangerous for Sergi. We might even face total encirclement,” even now the front-lines have stabilized. Richter’s advance stalls and the Federation are capable of maintaining distance while sustaining their discipline. His squadrons were also under the risk of being exposed to a Federation envelopment since a new batch of Federation ships from Side Baltit manage to reinforce the battered Federation flank.

Even now, the Federation is marching south past their right wing in what looks like what may be an L- shaped formation. Sergi’s attempts at hitting the weak points of that flank are not justifying the losses we take—my method of hugging the enemy means little if they have disciplined defense in depth. Even if my ships get close to one line… we cannot keep the momentum if they keep staggered lines. If we cannot stop the Metropolitan reinforcements—which, as it stands, I am unable to prevent—then we risk total encirclement.

I slump into my chair, caressing my disfigured cheek. Has my luck run out? Has this fearsome name of Madame Scarface run its course? Did I get too ambitious thinking I can take on a Federation armada head-on? Even if I were to subdue this Federation force, I must still deal with that junior officer’s fleet… what was her name? Happ… Schwartz or some such. The fact that she has yet to reach the battlefield is worrisome. If I am unable to break this deadlock, I will most likely have no fleet left to speak of to even challenge her.

…Che, you bastard oaf. If only you have held out a little while longer… if only you were a more sensible commander. If only I arrived a secon sooner! I cock my head to the side and massage my chin. And to think… putting aside the junior’s fleet, I must still tackle the juggernaut at the Rouen corridor.

…Simon, you fool. This fighting is utterly pointless. Why didn’t you listen? Why didn’t you join me in overthrowing Kamon and pursuing a peaceful option?!

I can hear several people calling out to me, but being so lost in thought I barely pay them any notice.

“—Madame! MADAME!” A burly man pulls me up by my cloak’s mantle and despite his fearless act of insubordination he stares into my eyes with excitement, “we’re intercepted communications from the Federation fleet!” He lessens his grip on me in perhaps realizing he has lost himself in excitement “the Federations are in disarray—they’re responding to a threat from the Baltit!” As he sets me down my thoughts run like a torrent “Che’s fleet has sallied out engaging the Federation in full force!”

Deep breaths. All I can respond with are deep sighs of relief. The burly subordinate rubs my shaking arms as reassurance.

“We didn’t… arrive considerably too late?” I ask—nearly as a whisper—cautiously and he nods “…you are positive that it is a friendly fleet emerging from the Baltit?” But before he can respond, others call out for me from the bridge. I tear myself away from the burly subordinate and nearly throw myself to the railing. Sure enough, on the map are indications of friendly-colored formations pouring out of the Baltit in a near-constant stream. The radio operator somewhere below holds up his receiver for the bridge to hear; the Federation communication in the rear is in a complete panic. The Federation ships marching away from the Baltit have inadvertently left themselves in a careless position.

At the same time, several display screens activate on our bridge display. A few at first— then several, and then over a dozen. They clutter the screens of the bridge, but they are all faces and shoddy outfits I’ve come to recognize—the defenders of the Baltit. My chest tightens as I fumble back into my chair, and lean forward while grasping at my aching chest.

My men are safe. For the first time in a long time—I feel a sense of happiness , and my eyes get teary. I can hardly think straight as both the bridge and the other ships erupt in celebration, and collective relief.

But when I look back at the video screens. I gain a sense of suspicion—perhaps rising worry, “my brother— Che, where is he? I do not see him,” I ask trying to maintain composure, and wiping my wet eyes with the heel of my hand. The hair on the back of my neck stands up which in turn gives me shivers. If anything happens to that bastard—who knows what will happen to me?

One of the video screens enlarges itself over the others to gain prominence; a young woman with short auburn hair—frankly, I can’t say I have seen much of her before. “Che is safe and sound—he has passed on command to me due to—” she blinks and bites on her tongue but I might be imagining things—”he has exhausted himself in the defense of the harbor, and couldn’t afford to command the sortie,” she says in a wonderful sopranos voice. I can only deflate with a sigh and lean back into my chair with a shrug. So long as the ape survives, I care not if he chooses not to lead. There are plenty of capable staff that were sent with Che—men far less inept than Che.

“Very well—in any case, hm…?” I ask, realizing I didn’t know what her name is. She must’ve caught on since she rubs her neck and laughs nervously.

“—Darcy, it is Darcy Cassetta—sorry for not mentioning it earlier,” Darcy interjects while rubbing the back of her head nervously. I crack a grin, despite the aching sensation from my scar.

“I shall hope Che made the right decision in appointing you in his stead—but I suppose even an untamed bull is better than that oaf… Darcy! Put as much pressure on the Metropolitan fleet as you can,” and with that, I cross my legs and prop my head on one of my arms “we shall finish these intruding fools with ease.”