“Commodore Vance! Ships to the southeast!”

“Give me that spyglass!”

The ship sways side to side as the wooden bow forces its way through the water. Seawater splashes and sprays as Commodore Vance does everything he can to stabilize his upper body from the constant movement of the ship.

Since the strange occurrences from previous nights, rumors spread throughout the small squadron of Ravenian clippers, and the Commodore swiftly ignored some of the crewmates’ outlandish claims that they were being followed, but a strange piece of him slowly comes to believe it.

Like a painting of a historical figure found only in museums, the Commodore holds the telescope in front of his clean-shaven face. He wears a large tricorn hat and a deep blue uniform fit for his rank.

He’s perfectly still as he analyzes what he sees—the frigates sailing in perfect unison. With the wind behind the Commodore’s squadron, they are traveling east while the unknown ships are heading north. Though the wind doesn’t permit them to sail directly at each other, the direction the three frigates are taking means they are on a collision course. Very quickly, the commodore can sense what may be happening.

This can not be a coincidental encounter; it’s an interception.

“Come left to zero-five-zero!” Commodore Vance orders.

“Come left to zero-five-zero, aye!” the helmsman repeats.

“Relay my orders to the other ships! Ready the guns!”

As the helmsman turns the wheel and the ship suddenly starts turning to port, the crew scrambles to the gundeck and prepares the guns. Unlike most merchant clippers, the Commodore’s squadron vessels are armed with a gun deck. With thirty 32-pounders, the clippers have the firepower to outgun whatever can catch them and the speed to outrun whatever outguns them.

Readying for combat is a precaution that Commodore Vance is taking. The frigates are complete unknowns, and he is only making sure they have the advantage if they turn out to be pirates. As far as he can tell, his squadron should have the upper hand.

“Steady on course zero-five-zero.”

“Aye.” The Commodore’s face is unwavering. His eyes are laser-focused on the distant frigates, and he stands tall and mighty, showing only confidence and power to his crew.

It’s been two weeks since the squadron left the Ravenian Empire. No one has ever ventured east of the Mossstar continent, and everyone is on edge. Their unprecedented objective is, of course, to make contact with the new world. Specifically, they aim to find and establish some sort of diplomatic relations with a country called the Federal Republic of Entesia. No one knows what to expect once they find such a country if they can find this mystic country at all.

“Commodore! Just what is going on?”

Coming from his quarters and concerned about the noise coming from the deck is Allen Harrington. A middle-aged man with graying hair, bushy beard, and equally formally dressed, he’s the Envoy sent to investigate and negotiate with the Entesians.

“Mister Harrington.” The Commodore points to the frigates in the distance. “It would seem we are being intercepted.”

Allen Harrington turns and looks at the three frigates. He attempts to examine the ships and determine their threat. All the crewmen on their clipper are preparing for combat as the two groups of ships come nearer and nearer. The frigates remain on their same course, refusing to react to the squadron’s change of direction. The first thing to come to his mind, like the Commodore, is that they are pirates.

Both are fully aware that piracy remains a troubling issue. With oceans and seas so vast, even the Venesian Empire can not rid its territories of pirates completely. While naval task forces are confident in their ability to sink ships and destroy pirate gangs in battle, finding and engaging them is a totally different headache. They are elusive and always cautious of every navy’s whereabouts.

Not even the new world is spared of piracy, Harrington thinks to himself. The corners of his lips curl upwards ever so slightly as the images of burning ships come into mind. As a proud Ravenian, he’s always happy to see his nation’s military showcase its power. Along with the continuous headaches pirates often create, he can think of no better way for the squadron to relieve its boredom. Though the clippers were chosen for speed and not combat, it should be no problem as the intercepting frigates look smaller and weaker.

As Commodore Vance looks through the spyglass again, another thought comes into Harrington’s mind. Just as he was beginning to look forward to the demise of pirates, he realizes how absurd it is for those three frigates to continue the interception. As far as he can see, the three frigates also have a single gun deck. Assuming they carry equivalent firepower, the squadron outnumbers the pirates. Any competent commander can see who the winner of the battle would be.

“Commodore, can you identify a flag? I wager they may not be hostile at all,” Harrington says, suspecting the frigates are friendly.

Responding to Harrington’s suggestion, Commodore Vance gently moves the spyglass upwards, and white sails and masts replace the view of a wooden hull. Fluttering in the wind, Commodore Vance sees a single flag on the mainmast of the lead ship.

“I see the flag.”

“Pirates?”

The Commodore describes to Harrington what he sees. Red and white stripes, a large blue stripe in the middle with a white eagle and stars. It’s unlike any flag either has ever seen.

“Could they be whom we seek, I wonder?” Harrington comments as he now doubts any hostility.

At this moment, the Commodore spots a sailor waving a white flag on the lead frigate.

“They are waving a white flag, Mister Harrington.”

“Well then, let’s see what they have to say.”

The three frigates are of the Entesian Coast Guard. Aboard them, all crew is on heightened alert as this interception is far different from the rest. These five clippers don’t originate from either the Reneran or Weslec continents.

“Captain, any idea who they are? None of the kingdoms have ships like that,” an Entesian officer says.

“I don’t know. Let’s hope they understood the flag as wanting to negotiate instead of surrender.”

It is all too common for explorers, merchants, and even criminals to try to breach Entesian borders, hoping to catch a glimpse of the infamous country. It’s a never-ending hunt for the Entesian military. While the Army and Air Force keep watch over the Wesley Mountain Range for crossings, the Coast Guard and Navy have to find and intercept any ship coming too close to the mainland. As part of efforts from the Federal Government to keep their military technology unknown and unseen, the Coast Guard maintains a fleet of wooden sail ships to perform interceptions.

Downstairs in the gundeck, gunnery crews aboard the Entesian frigates also take precautions and prepare their armaments. They have intercepted aggressive intruders before, but they can’t rely on outdated weaponry if a battle ensues. Notwithstanding technological secrecy, the frigates are armed with a few surplus M101 Howitzers, stripped down and modified for operation aboard the ships. They are roughly the same size as the 32-pounder guns aboard the Ravenian clippers but far exceed them in every way.

Once the ships get close enough, crewmen furl the sails, and all vessels slowly come to a stop. Discreetly aiming guns at each other, no one is certain if the other group carries any hostility. Using hand signals, both parties attempt to communicate. Communication is usually the most challenging part of an interception because the crew can never tell if their message is ever understood.

Allen Harrington quickly realizes that if these are the Entesians he is meant to find, he will need to make the first move.

“Commodore, have your men prepare a dory. I will board their ship.”

“You will board? Are you sure?”

“We must show decisiveness in the face of the unknown, Commodore.”

While Harrington boards a dory accompanied by armed guards, the Entesians are busy communicating with nearby forces. For the past few days, the Entesian Navy has been monitoring the unsuspecting squadron. It started when an Ohio-class submarine encountered the squadron in the open ocean while on patrol before notifying the Navy and Coast Guard. It has been following them ever since.

While the frigates are the only ships the Ravenians can currently see, they are utterly oblivious to the submarine below them and warships beyond the horizon.

Departing the clipper, the dory slowly makes its way to one of the Entesian frigates. While men row, Harrington starts getting a little excited. He is about to make official contact with the new world. Few will ever get that opportunity.

The dory sways side to side as Harrington stares at the frigates. He can see the faces of the sailors on board. They watch him with curiosity as the dory approaches the hull. The barrels of the howitzers move a few inches back, and the gun ports close, showing the Ravenians no intent of conflict. The Entesian sailors drop a ladder as soon as the dory stops, and Harrington starts to climb. His guards armed with flintlock pistols and cutlass’ climb after, and everyone holds their breath for what’s to come.

When Harrington steps onto the deck, he is confronted with strange people. Coast Guardsmen of the Law Enforcement Detachment, the Coast Guard’s operational element, surround Harrington with rifles to their side. They watch and analyze the Ravenians as they climb aboard, wary of the weapons Harrington’s guards carry.

“Welcome aboard the ERS Ironsides,” a Coast Guardsman cautiously says to Harrington, “who am I speaking to?”

“Gentlemen, my name is Allen Harington, Envoy from the Ravenian Empire. Are you from the country known as the ‘Federal Republic of Entesia’?”

“Yeah, we’re the Entesian Coast Guard. What business do you have with us?”

“Coast Guard? That’s interesting. Well, to put it plainly, we seek to negotiate. Our government is aware that your people have agents meddling with our neighbors. A secretive research group, I’m told.”

.

.

Wesking, the capital of the Entesian Republic, stands as perhaps the most politically powerful city in Adon, and hardly anyone knows its name. A rough replica of 1960s America, the Entesian populace enjoys the luxury of contemporary society mixed with old traditions. Cars often considered antique or classic freely roam the streets of the city. Horse-drawn carriages still make frequent appearances now and then as some people are still resistant to the fast pace change that the country has experienced for the past half-century. It’s as if the entire city is a movie set.

The skyline is small. It was never large to begin with. Skyscrapers are still a new idea to most people, and they are sparse. The tallest buildings are still short of famous American buildings. The Empire State Building, for example, would outshine every building in Wesking. However, many new buildings are in construction. The economy continues to boom, and nobody knows what the city will look like after a few more decades of rapid technological advancement.

In one spot of the city, the Federal Palace watches over a river running through the city. Inside his office, President Dennis Wilson is meeting with his National Security Advisor, who informs him about the Ravenian squadron intercepted by the Coast Guard. It was already suspected that they would come eventually, especially when the Ringleader team is already cooperating with their people.

“Where are they?” Wilson asks.

“The Ravenian squadron is near the Haven Islands, two thousand miles west from the mainland. We’re directing them around the islands to prevent them from seeing Joint Base Harper, as per protocol.”

Wilson bites his nail as he thinks. He can’t turn them away because they could easily expose the Ringleader team. On the other hand, working with them will likely force Entesia to reveal itself as a significant power on the international stage. The Venesian Empire should still be unaware of how much they are involved with the new world invasions, but that is likely about to change. The arrival of the Ravenians is sure to be a turning point.

“What’s the state of our armed forces?”

“It’s growing steadily, sir. We should now be able to single-handedly defend the Reneran continent in its entirety if we assume invasions of similar magnitudes are launched. However, Newden Air Base is still the only base on the Weslec continent. It’s constantly operating at full capacity, and we are having trouble getting permission from the elves to establish airbases. They are proving to be much too arrogant and proud to allow their lands to be occupied, even for their own defense.”

“And current combat operations?”

“It’s chaos, sir. The Hexagon restructured Operational Plan 1024 after the Alitic Alliance arrived. More resources are being diverted to Operation Veiled Termite, but the lack of support and infrastructure impedes its progress. The frontlines are a bloodbath. Only the EIA’s Operation Steroid is making significant progress in producing resistance.”

Wilson’s eyes divert down to his desk. He stares at a blank page he turned over before his advisor entered the office, and he thinks about his circumstances.

He was just an officer for the American CIA not more than a year ago, and now he doubles as President of a copycat nation his agency created. All at just thirty-six years of age. With no experience as a politician but all the knowledge of an intelligence officer, leading a country was not something he ever envisioned himself doing. He was just one of countless CIA officers who ran for President to saturate the list of candidates. His campaign was only meant to drown out native candidates. To his surprise, not only did he draw attention away from native candidates, but he also outshined his American colleagues. It wasn’t a landslide victory, but the polls still showed a decent gap, which means the race wasn’t close enough for his victory to be a fluke.

Was it because he was the youngest candidate and, therefore, the youngest President? Is he more charismatic than he thought? Was his calm demeanor more favorable than his hyper-aggressive competitors? In hindsight, that’s most likely the case; the Entesian populace has grown pacifistic and neutral.

“Sir, we estimate almost a million troops from the Alitic Alliance are on the continent, mostly contributed by the Venesian Empire. They’ve been sending reinforcements nonstop. With our help, the elves forced a stalemate, but it won’t last for long. I think we will eventually be forced to expand combat operations to more overt methods.”

The world still sees the Entesian Republic as an isolationist country. Weak, young, and inexperienced in international politics. Importing raw materials nobody wants and exporting products deemed heavenly, few people can recognize the significance of the country behind the mountains. The infamous ‘Northern Republic’ continues to be praised for its luxury goods and mocked for its political policies.

No one can genuinely consider a mere fifty-year-old country, born from one of the most devastating wars anyone has ever seen, can have overtaken everyone as the most powerful and advanced civilization. This is precisely what the Entesian government wanted from the start, and they have been trying to keep it that way for as long as possible.

President Wilson has been balancing action and inaction ever since he took office. Now that the Ravenian Empire has come to them, the status quo may have to change.

“Get that Ravenian Envoy here as soon as possible,” Wilson suddenly says.

“Sir, it will take a few days for their squadron to reach—”

“By plane. Get them to Joint Base Harper and fly them here.”

“I’ll notify the base commander, sir.”

As the man walks out of the office, someone else steps in. He brings urgent news from a certain organization.

“Sir, you’re requested at the Hexagon. Secretary Hayes is there and waiting.”

“What for?”

“The Directorate of Exotic Development, sir.”

Wilson pauses. He hasn’t heard of them for a while and wonders what happened that invokes his help, especially since they function outside his authority.

“I’ll be outside shortly.”

The man exits the office, and Wilson is left sitting at his desk. Just the sound of the ticking clock fills his ears. He turns over the blank page on his desk and reveals it to be a letter.

It’s directly addressed to him, or rather to the Entesian President, whomever it may be. The date printed on it is January 626 on the Adon calendar or 1977 on Earth’s Gregorian calendar; the end of the first President’s second term right before he disappeared without a trace. It’s been given to and read by every Entesian President since, and it details his duty, commitment, and oath as President. He’s the only one allowed to lay eyes on it.

President Wilson sighs and stores the letter into his desk, reminded of the sheer amount of power he actually has. He stands up and walks out of his office, unsure of the rough road ahead.

.

.

Several miles away, in a massive hexagon-shaped building, office workers shuffle around nonstop throughout the concrete and steel maze. In the cubicles where formally dressed men and women sit and process information for the Department of Defense, employees look around to see that it doesn’t look much different than working in the private sector.

Recently, activity within the Hexagon increased dramatically. There are far more people working here as countless new hires settle down into their new jobs, reading, reviewing, and organizing a never-ending stream of paperwork. The military has been growing, and the new world invasions require a lot of processing power to keep track of as much information as they can.

The largest concentration of information and the largest cache of classified material lies within the fortress-like structure. One can only wonder what secret they may learn upon opening the wrong cabinet or drawer. Even if someone could, they wouldn’t dare to. Patriotic about their unique country, all staff are loyal to the Entesian flag, and none would ever dream of betraying what their fathers and grandfathers fought to create.

Twenty-seven-year-old intelligence analyst Clay Fletcher leaves his desk and heads into the maze of hallways and corridors. He’s on his way to the food court, and he carries a single folder of various documents he needs to read through before the day’s end. The sound of phone calls and shuffling papers disappears and is replaced by the footsteps of other employees as he walks. The walls and ceiling are white, accented by polished coffee-colored wainscoting and shiny gray granite floors.

At some point, a small group of people makes their way through the corridor towards Clay’s direction. Everyone in the corridor stops and steps aside for the group to pass as they quickly realize their importance. Clay instantly identifies a face among the group since he’s seen it many times on television before—President Dennis Wilson.

“Look, it’s the President,” someone says.

“Wow, it’s my first time seeing him in person,” a new employee says with enthusiasm.

“Better get used to it. This is the Hexagon, after all.”

“And miss Holly Hayes herself too,” another says with a noticeably less excited tone while eyeing a blonde woman wearing a blue suit and skirt, walking alongside Wilson.

“Shut it. She’s technically our boss. Don’t let her hear you.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Clay stays silent the entire time and only listens to the whispering of his colleagues. As the group passes, Clay goes on about his day, confident that this won’t be the first time he’ll catch a glimpse of the President.

It seems some people still have doubts about President Wilson’s administration. Earlier that year, when Wilson was inaugurated, most Entesians had an overwhelmingly positive opinion of Wilson, but that took a noticeable hit when he did something unprecedented.

Because Entesia is still relatively new, some old ways of thinking persist even after years of economic, political, and cultural change. Not more than fifty years ago, women had no right to vote, no right to own property, no access to education, no economic possibilities, and they were overall just expected to be idle housewives. The only women who had any potential for a more exciting career were those with elven ancestry, who could use magic.

Hardly considered individuals at the time, people were in utter shock when one of the Entesian federal government’s first acts was to recognize women as equal citizens legally. All that remains is the fading social expectations of the past as more women slowly take more roles. However, President Dennis Wilson created considerable debate when he nominated several women to the highest and most powerful positions in government to hasten social perceptions of women.

Holly Hayes serves as Secretary of the Department of Defense. She’s one of several women who are heads of executive departments. However, as Secretary of Defense, Hayes faces the additional stereotype that women are too weak to participate in war, much less command the military. It doesn’t help that Hayes is in her early thirties, which is extraordinarily young for such a powerful position.

Ignoring the gaze of onlookers, President Wilson confidently walks while continuing to debate matters in his mind. Armed guards are more frequent as fewer and fewer people are allowed to roam in the area. After passing various checkpoints under the curious gaze of a few people, Wilson’s entourage reaches an undisclosed conference room deep in the Hexagon.

The few Secret Service agents accompanying him remain outside to guard the conference room as the door closes behind President Wilson. He sees a handful of men in black suits and uniforms are already waiting for him there. Among them are the Director of the EIA, Director of National Intelligence, and several CIA officers. They all stand up to greet Wilson as he makes his way to the end of a large table cluttered with a mess of documents and sits down. Secretary Hayes also takes a seat as she also looks around at the people in the room.

“Gentlemen,” Wilson says.

“Mister President,” a man in a suit says, “I’m with the Directorate of Exotic Development. There’s been a significant incident involving the Rothester Plan.”

Wilson straightens himself in his chair as he knows something significant has happened. The Directorate of Exotic Development is the joint EIA/CIA organization that oversees the highly secretive Rothester Plan. He immediately recognizes that everyone in that room is an American officer, including Secretary Hayes. Despite their equal status as Americans, they continue to treat Wilson as President.

Another detail Wilson notices is that everyone is relatively young. Few are middle-aged as an unintentional byproduct of their assignments. Especially for an officer who leads the double life as a high profile public servant in another world, they would be away from the United States for years. Few are willing to leave behind family for such a long time, so only the unmarried and without kids tend to sign up, usually the younger officers.

“So what happened?” Wilson asks.

“Ringleader operator Kenneth Kai Morgan was targeted for an assassination plot by the Venesian Empire’s foreign intelligence agency known as the Tabellarii.”

Wilson is passed a report detailing what Ringleader reported. He is told everything that Ringleader knows, including the intelligence that the Ravens offered the Ringleader members. Everything is stamped with words that say ‘TOP SECRET’ and ‘EYES ONLY’. He is also given a general update on the team’s progress, and he analyzes the information cautiously.

“They are behind schedule,” Wilson says, “seems the estimated time frame was too tight.”

“Sir,” a DED officer interrupts, “the Rothester Plan will need to be adjusted.”

“That can’t happen. Phase two was supposed to end the invasions. Do you realize how much the elves are struggling against them?”

“Sir, if Ringleader continues as originally planned, they’ll be compromised with no way back. Phase two won’t arrive in time; we underestimated Venesian interference.”

“So now what?”

“That particular objective will have to be abandoned. They also requested reinforcements again. For security purposes, this time, I think we have to give it to them.”

“Then send another team from the Special Activities Center.”

“Unavailable. We wanted to request a team from the EIA’s division, but all are deployed in Weslec. So we want to request units from ESOCOM,” he gestures to Secretary Hayes.

“And, are there any available?” Wilson asks Hayes.

“Just a few,” she responds. “JSOC has their hands tied as all their chips ride on Task Force 66 for Operation Veiled Termite and can’t spare much for a prolonged deployment. The other commands face similar issues. Only the Army Special Operations Command has a few units available.”

Secretary Hayes gives Wilson two folders containing summaries of two special operations teams. Wilson opens the folders to see several operators’ background information, skills, training, and experiences with their portrait in the corner.

“They are the only two units that volunteered,” Hayes says. “ODA 612 from the new 6th Special Forces Group, and a squad from the 75th Ranger Regiment’s Regimental Reconnaissance Company. Both are nearing their next deployment, and we probably won’t find any others who are willing to disappear.”

“So we’re adding natives to an American operation? No other alternatives?”

“Without aid,” the DED officer continues, “we will abandon the Rothester Plan altogether and extract Ringleader. At least, we would, but the CIA wants us to continue, so Ringleader would continue alone, which of course puts them at great risk.”

“So, what do you need me to do?” Wilson asks, aware that they know he won’t risk the loss of American operators overseas.

“We need you to lend us a team. Either will do.”

“Which one do you want to send, Dennis?” Hayes asks.

Wilson flips through the pages and briefly reads the files. Every operator seems capable and trustworthy. For an operation in which the Department of Defense isn’t involved, the two teams will need to operate as deniable paramilitary assets. “Both,” Wilson responds. “Holly, tell them they are being transferred to the Special Activities Division. After that, assign them to the Field Research and Assistance Group.”

“Sure. But, um. I want to voice my concern that without phase one of Rothester, we will be left to stop the invasions by ourselves.”

“We know,” the DED officer responds. “President Wilson, the CIA, and the President strongly recommend that you cease isolation policies, propose war to Congress, and launch a full-scale counterattack as soon as possible. Entesia should be capable of dealing enough damage to make the Venesians retreat or seek peace out of fear.”

“No,” Wilson immediately says. “Tell them it isn’t going to happen. It will just cause too much political fallout.”

The DED officer sighs. Despite being a CIA officer, Wilson is still President of another country and can negotiate on his terms.

“Well, then. I think we’re done here. We appreciate your cooperation, Mister President.”

.

.

The Haven islands are within sight; beautiful picturesque islands that can only be found in a brochure. Except, at the moment, they only see mountains, lush with greenery. The Ravenian clipper squadron has been following the three Entesian frigates towards what they claim to be a naval base.

Envoy Allen Harrington is delighted that the Entesians are willing to talk peacefully. Considering that the country proclaims itself as a republic, both Harrington and Commodore Vance are highly skeptical about political stability. Republics have historically never worked, always falling into civil war and ultimately resulting in a restored monarchy dominating with brutality.

Even more delightful is that they will finally be able to step on solid land. They have been sailing for far too long. Harrington can only hope that Entesian accommodations will be enough to satisfy his luxurious lifestyle as a Ravenian diplomat. As for the Commodore, he is curious to see the state of the Entesian military. Considering that they were intercepted by three frigates with few gunports, he doesn’t expect much. Especially not when the Ravenian Imperial Navy is entering an age of ironclads. After seeing images of the newly commissioned ironclad RS Emperor, he feels like nothing can surprise him.

As the squadron makes its way around the mountain to get a better view of the island, sailors line up on the decks of the clippers to witness another nation’s military. Those on the rigging, standing atop the masts, also peer out to the island. They don’t expect much of a naval base. At most, they may have a few ships of the line of the third, second, or maybe even a first-rate warship.

Once they clear the mountain, they finally see it. It’s a massive harbor with dozens of ships docked. They see no sandy beaches; they see no wooden docks; they see only concrete and steel. Everyone’s eyes only briefly notice the fleet of wooden sail ships docked or floating in the bay as they are immediately struck by massive steel constructs floating in the water.

Confounded, dumbfounded, bewildered, awestruck; little words can describe the sheer confusion and surprise that the Ravenian sailors are feeling. No comments are made, and all eyes are wide open. For a brief moment, no one can think. Commodore Vance can only mutter a single word, “Ironclads…”

“Just what the bloody hell is this?” Harrington says a few seconds later.

The clippers slowly make their way into the harbor, guided by tugboats. From the wharf, many people are watching the clippers approaching. A small welcoming group prepares themselves to welcome the unexpected visitors.

Captain Stanley, the Commanding Officer of Joint Base Harper, watches with apprehension. He was only recently informed that the base would be receiving visitors. Even worse is that it is an official envoy from a foreign country. This is entirely out of the blue, and he glances at the handful of Entesian warships docked in the harbor: two Arleigh Burke-class destroyers and two Ticonderoga-class cruisers. It’s a huge security risk that they are basically on display for these foreign visitors. Entesia’s modern military is supposed to be elusive and unknown. Even Entesia’s own citizens know very little about the military hardware their own country wields. It’s much safer to be assumed weak and ignored than show off and make themselves a target.

On the bright side, this is the best-case scenario wherein the base is home to a carrier strike group of several destroyers, cruisers, a submarine, an aircraft carrier, and a battleship. At the moment, they are on patrol far away from the Haven islands, and their existence can still be kept hidden for a while longer. Had they been docked, there’s no telling what kind of rumors would emerge.

When the Ravenians finally dock, everyone rushes to greet the newcomers. Stepping onto solid land, Harrington and Commodore Vance almost want to kiss the ground, but they are preoccupied with their strange surroundings. More men holding bizarre firearms approach. Even stranger is their attire: uniforms with irregular blue patterns. It’s the blue digital uniform used by the navy.

What a strange choice for uniforms, Harrington thinks.

“Welcome to Joint Base Harper. I’m the base commander. Captain Stanley. Who do I owe the pleasure of meeting?” Stanley asks.

“Sir Allen Harrington, Envoy of the Ravenian Empire,” he says.

The two shake hands.

“So this is the Entesian Republic,” Harrington says as he looks around. He notices that the base is very spread out and lacks expected infrastructure while including never before seen structures. In the distance, he sees dozens and dozens of large cylinder-like objects. It’s a fuel depot, but Harrington can only think of them as weird grain silos.

“Well, this is a military installation. The Entesian mainland is still a long way from here.”

“And, are those ironclads I see?” Harrington points to the destroyers and cruisers.

“Something like that, though we don’t refer to them as such. So, Mister Harrington, I assume you’re here on a diplomatic mission?” Stanley quickly says, hoping to avoid the subject of their warships.

“Yes, our government wishes to talk with yours. I hope you can inform your superiors and direct us to the mainland.”

“Oh, they are already aware. In fact, we were ordered to lead you here, which we would otherwise never do.”

Confused at Stanley’s wording, Harringtons says, “I must not have heard correctly. Did you say your government is already aware of us?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Strange. How far away is the mainland? Stanley said far, but how can that be? Unless Entesia possesses some kind of long-range communication magic, a messenger should spend days at sea, wouldn’t they?

“I see. If possible, Commander, we would like to restock on supplies before setting sail for the mainland.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Stanley says as a small convoy of Humvees approaches.

Shocked once more, Harrington’s mind has a rough time keeping up with everything he’s seeing. A highly mobile carriage without horses? He’s aware that steam engines are used by trains, steamships, and industrial machinery, but no one has tried putting one in a carriage. They are simply too large for such a small vehicle.

“Our leader, the President, has ordered that we get you to the capital as soon as possible for whatever reason. So, you won’t be sailing.”

“W-what?”

“You’ll be flying.”

“Flying? By wyverns? Dragons? Commander, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think—”

“Not on those, Mister Harrington.” Stanley smiles as the humvees park behind them. “Aircraft. You’ll reach the mainland in only a few hours.”

None of that makes any sense to Harrington. “I do not understand what you refer to, Commander.”

“I suppose it’s best if we show you. Please, follow me to the airfield.”