December 30, 1640

Cartalpas, Holy Mirishial Empire

Port Manager Bronze stood on the precipice of a wooden platform, his eyes narrowing as he took in the surreal spectacle laid before him. Beyond the city’s bustling harbor, a constellation of behemoth ships anchored themselves – a stark juxtaposition to the smaller trawlers and boats around them. Even the surviving Mirishial carriers, witnesses to the cataclysmic battle that nearly engulfed the entirety of Cartalpas, seemed like children’s toys in comparison. The last time he laid eyes on these symbols of technological might was during the World Leadership Conference. He hadn’t expected their return so soon, nor under these dire circumstances.

Jets soared overhead, drawing his attention back to the immediate horizon. Bronze’s attention shifted as a cluster of nimble boats cut through the water in tight formation. They pulled up to the shorter docks and two men from each boat leapt onto the planks. They threw ropes and secured knows all in swift, synchronized movements. Once the boats were secure, they stacked up in two parallel columns along the dock, ready to move.

The first to disembark was a man in a white uniform, gold braid prominent on his shoulder boards. He paused to address his men: a single curt nod directed the personnel behind to fan out to predetermined locations, some staying behind with the boats and others moving toward security points. After his men proceeded with their assignments, he walked up the gangway.

As he approached, the admiral extended his hand before he was even within arm’s reach – a sign of confidence, Bronze thought. He shook the American’s hand firmly. “Admiral Hawthorne, I’m Port Manager Bronze. Welcome to Cartalpas.”

“Thank you, Mister Bronze. Your harbor is quite impressive, even in the aftermath of battle. I wish I could’ve seen it during the World Leadership Conference,” Hawthorne observed, his eyes briefly flicking to a crane in the distance hoisting the remnants of a downed aircraft from the water.

Bronze couldn’t help but glance back at the massive American warships dotting the horizon. “It’s nothing compared to the fleet you’ve brought. Those are Arleigh Burke-class destroyers, if I’m not mistaken?”

A knowing smile crept onto the Admiral’s face. “Sharp eye. You must know a thing or two about warships.”

“Some,” Bronze conceded, a slight smile unfurling. “I wasn’t chosen to host each Conference for no reason. Frankly, I find warships ‘cool’, as you Americans might say. Yours in particular are quite the sight to behold.”

“I could say the same about the fantastical and elegant Mirishial ships.” Hawthorne walked beside Bronze as they moved toward a building at the far end of the harbor – a structure largely untouched by the recent battle, but flanked by hastily-erected barricades.

Bronze glanced at the partially sunk Mirishial warships, then back to the admiral. “Wonderful aesthetics, but lacking in the efficacy department, I must admit. Our naval command center is this way. I understand you’ll be coordinating efforts with our own admirals for the foreseeable future.”

“That’s correct. My staff will need full access to your communication networks and surveillance systems. I’m sure you’ve also received the documents for renovations to the infrastructure?” Hawthorne glanced at a group of Mirishial sailors laboriously clearing debris. They worked alongside mages who manipulated the earth and sand to ‘sweep’ shards of metal into a pile and others who manipulated the waters, bringing scraps from the depths onto the shoreline for easier removal.

“Of course. After the show you’ve put on, I don’t think anyone will object,” Bronze said. “Your intervention came at a crucial time. We were on the verge of –”

“Unconditional surrender,” Hawthorne finished the sentence for him. “I’ve read the reports. Let’s make sure it doesn’t come to that again.”

The men reached the entrance of the naval command center, pausing momentarily as they looked back at the sea – the American ships like sentinels in the distance, a stark contrast to the wreckage strewn about the harbor.

“We won’t,” Bronze said. The Admiral nodded, and they stepped inside.

– –

As Hawthorne stepped through the door, he was greeted by a gust of cozy warm air. Despite its proximity to the battle, the Cartalpas Naval Command Center managed to escape destruction, emerging unscathed. So too, did its heating system. The air itself held a slight aromatic quality – likely some form of Mirishial incense. He appreciated the brief comfort it offered, wondering if it had some sort of magical calming effect.

The command center was a fusion of Mirishial artistry and function: high, vaulted ceilings adorned with intricately carved patterns. The tables within the meeting room were infused with semi-luminescent materials providing soft, ambient lighting. On the largest table, numerous figurines were spread out across a map of the Artticus Ocean and Mu continent.

A Mirishial elf approached him, adorned in splendor that outshone the rest of the Mirishial staff present. “Admiral Hawthorne,” he extended a hand. “I’m Admiral Serrath. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.” Hawthorne accepted the greeting.

As both admirals took their seats around the map table, Serrath began, “Your timely intervention at Cartalpas was truly heaven-sent, Admiral, but the Gra Valkas Empire’s persistence still poses a significant challenge to our beleaguered forces.” He handed a report to Hawthorne before continuing, “The Battle of Cartalpas revealed new tactical shifts from the Gra Valkans, particularly their strategies against our warships and the Pal Chimera.”

Hawthorne leaned in, eyes scrutinizing the report. “These figures… the Cartalpas Defense Fleet lost over 40 percent of their vessels, including most of the carriers and battleships.”

Serrath regarded the statistics with a heavy heart. “The toll was grievous. The Gra Valkans clearly demonstrated their adaptability, but so did we. They lost hundreds of aircraft before your arrival, thanks to a combination of our air defenses, your missile launchers, and the Eimorians’ wind dragons. Alas, we were unable to take down a single ship; their carriers’ maximum range exceeded those of our own carriers and Comet missiles. It weighs upon me to confess: we cannot land a hit on their fleets without risking our valuable superweapons.”

“Did you sustain any superweapon losses during the battle?”

“We escaped that fate by a hair. Our Pal Chimera was forced back, and thankfully the Gra Valkans did not chase. Their decision to retreat, leaving behind several battleship divisions as sacrifice, speaks volumes. They will not confront your forces directly.”

Hawthorne frowned. “It implies they’re fully aware of the scale of our technological advantage. Their willingness to sacrifice for a strategic retreat is concerning. We won’t be able to clean up their fleets as easily. They’re certainly playing a long game here.”

Serrath provided a new set of reports as an aide moved red Gra Valkan pieces toward the western island in the Cartalpas Strait. “Recent intelligence isn’t favorable, either. Follicus Island has fallen to the enemy. The Gra Valkans have established a foothold and greatly hinder our attempts to send what little reinforcements we have to the port city of Junnaral, which is under continuous attack from waves of enemy aircraft.”

Hawthorne paused, deep in thought. “If Follicus is a linchpin in their defensive strategy, it needs to be our first point of contention. With it under their control, our route to Mu will always be under threat. Not to mention, Junnaral is a critical port for us.”

Serrath nodded, glancing at the map with its ever-growing clusters of red pieces. “The island itself is not heavily fortified, but its strategic position allows the GVE to stage attacks and block reinforcements effectively. Our recent attempts at approaching Junnaral have been intercepted, with significant losses. We cannot spare any more reinforcements, lest we expose Runepolis.”

“Then our first order of business will be to retake Follicus. If we control the island, we can retake Junnaral and upgrade the infrastructure there, providing cover and faster response times for operations throughout the western coasts,” Hawthorne said, allowing the information to settle. He continued, “I propose a two-pronged approach. One part of the Seventh Fleet will focus on a rapid recapture of Follicus, supported by EDI forces for shore bombardment and landfall if necessary. We’ll use our aerial and naval superiority for a swift, surprise assault. Simultaneously, another detachment will move towards Junnaral, not just as a reinforcement, but to push the Gra Valkans out and set up a perimeter defense while we renovate the port facilities there.”

“Your vessels have unparalleled range and firepower,” Serrath noted with a hint of jealousy in his voice. “Employed judiciously, they can make the difference, ensuring we don’t just retake, but also permanently hold these positions.”

Hawthorne acknowledged with a slight nod. “Thank you, Admiral. But this is still a race against the clock. Moving beyond Follicus and Junnaral, there’s another logistical point we should address.”

Serrath’s brow furrowed as he anticipated Hawthorne’s next point. “The Conshal Islands.”

“Affirmative. Our intel indicates that the Conshal Islands are the Gra Valkans’ primary logistical hub in the Artticus Ocean. By controlling it, they sustain their operations and keep their forces supplied and reinforced. Liberating the Conshal Islands will be a huge blow to the Gra Valkans and will provide us a pivotal point from which we can run continuous supply operations to Mu.”

Serrath nodded. “And therein lies the quandary. By moving aggressively towards the Conshals, we pose a dilemma to the Gra Valkans. Do they defend their logistical hub, or continue their focus on Mu?”

Hawthorne’s eyes locked onto Serrath’s. “Exactly. Their entire strategy is most likely to delay and deter. They’re playing for time, not doubt preparing to use their numbers to distract us while trying to score victories elsewhere. By threatening the Conshals, we put them on the back foot.”

Bronze chimed in, a silent observer all this time. “But Admiral, wouldn’t that stretch your Seventh and Fifth fleets thin? The Gra Valkans could be betting on that and may capitalize.”

Hawthorne smiled faintly. “Under normal circumstances, yes. But our assets have a broader operational range and efficacy. I don’t blame the enemy for not fully comprehending just how powerful one of our ships can be, let alone an entire fleet. One of our fleets can potentially counterbalance multiple Gra Valkan conquest fleets, especially if they’re unsupported by their main carriers.”

Serrath interjected, “They employ a habituated strategy, using mobile fleets to divert your gaze whilst their primary naval assets strike at our vulnerabilities. They surely rely upon the notion that, in spite of your advanced machinery, you cannot maintain a presence on all fronts.”

“That’s accurate,” Hawthorne replied. “Which is why our move on the Conshals must be swift and decisive. We take it, and we force them to respond. They can either divert significant resources in a futile attempt to reclaim it or concede their primary supply point, both of which play in our favor. Meanwhile, the Fifth Fleet will support your forces in defending Mirishial waters.”

“It is risky, but may very well succeed,” Serrath acknowledged. “The pivotal question now is the nature of deployment. Even with your technological edge, the Gra Valkans will use their number advantage wherever they can. You mentioned that one of your fleets is enough to stave off multiple conquest fleets; are you truly this confident?”

Hawthorne nodded, wielding a smile reflecting a blend of pride and realism. “It’s not just about numbers, Admiral. It’s about capabilities and how they’re leveraged. Take our attack submarines, for example. The Virginia class, which we have multiple of in each fleet, can carry missiles ideal for targeting surface ships, alongside heavyweight torpedoes.”

Serrath’s eyebrow arched in intrigue. “And how many of these missiles can a single Virginia class deploy?”

“Up to 40,” Hawthorne responded bluntly. “In practice, a single Virginia-class submarine, if positioned well, could neutralize the majority of battleships and carriers in a Gra Valkan conquest fleet. An Ohio-class carries over triple that number of missiles. Their sonar technology is decades behind ours, so we have the ability to strike whenever and wherever we want, without fear of retaliation.”

“Am I to truly believe you when you say that a single submarine can best multiple Pal Chimerae in its ability to face a Gra Valkan fleet? That one lone submarine can play such a pivotal role?” Serrath asked, visibly impressed.

“Yes. However, we don’t plan to rely solely on them. They will be a key part of disabling Gra Valkan air power at sea, working in tandem with our surface vessels.”

Serrath’s gaze moved back to the map, the weight of the information sinking in. “This changes many things. Your technological prowess goes past leveling the playing field; nay, it guarantees victory.”

Hawthorne nodded. “It’s why we can talk about retaking Conshal and defending your coastline simultaneously.”

Serrath extended a hand towards Hawthorne. “To a successful alliance, then.”

Hawthorne accepted, shaking it firmly. “And a quick end to this war.”