In his twenties, a flag admiral righted himself, his hand holding onto one page, who could not believe what he was seeing. “These aren’t troop numbers…nor values of equipment…” Paused, he read each column, repeatedly.
Shaking his head, the elder color admiral distanced himself from the markers not needing to know any more. “Population. Wealth. Food.” He sighed, turning to Radilov, and asked him. “Do you truly intend on this, Mikhail?”
With his shadow ominously cast over the map of the continent, he raised one hand and corrected him. “Slaves. Gold. Tools.” Lifting one finger at a time, the admiral counted as if he was lecturing his men. “Regardless of what that fucking premier thinks, they will be the resources our Grand Prince requires to revive the Tsarreich.” He glanced at them for hints of disapproval.
The first flag admiral nodded, seeming approving of his ambitions. “Hence, Alben.” He was right to conclude.
“I must admit, that Ivan of ours went a step too far,” Radilov referred to the decaying memories of the blitz that could never be entirely forgotten. “But, this island is one of the last places on this continent that has not yet been stripped to the bone.” He circled his hand over the mainland.
His admirals looked at their comrades who were unsure too and the camp was clearly split in thoughts, morally and politically. Those who held the exiled monarchy and the old order in the highest regard showed their agreement without hesitation whilst a number of those more moderate, true soldiers who fought for the country and the people first, believed that pacifism could sometimes work better towards bringing peace to their world. Among officers who could not decide upon a path or they were too afraid to speak up against the admiral, there was one, far younger in age and rank, who felt the need to interject.
“Would it not be better to make allies with the locals?” Given his rank, he should not have been a part of the meeting, but the admiral had allowed this lieutenant to stay to learn about the goings of admirals in preparation for his inevitable future.
Fearing for him, the junior admirals halted whatever they did. Their eyes switched focus, moving back and forth between the lieutenant and admiral, as they sweated from their scalp sensing that they were going to be verbally attacked by their commander as well.
Having chosen not to face the lieutenant, Radilov raised his head and stared at the door in the far wall of the bridge. “Why would that be?” He played along with a mirage of interest.
The lieutenant continued, paying no heed to all the eyes burdening him, “If we can convince them to pay tribute…surely they won’t go as far as to rebel when—”
“When we subjugate them?” Radilov finished his sentence. “Who said anything about subjugation?” He reminded him of the nature of his plan.
The admiral’s word was absolute and not even his advisors would dare question him. They did what he willed even if it made no sense to themselves because they knew that his views were often proven right on the battlefield, in government, in life, too many times that they believed it was no coincidence, and for this, like most times, they remained silent, averting their eyes away from the building heat that came from the admiral.
Loosening his fists, his hands lay flat on the table and his shoulders slacked. “One should not intend to attain peace with costly actions, lieutenant.” Only he knew how many times he has had to remind him but it wore on his patience. “Surely, that Eos taught you as much.” It was as if Radilov was pushing a pin into the lieutenant’s chest.
As tensions crept, the elder color admiral leaned inward. “The lieutenant is right in some regard.” He showed sympathy for the boy whose idea was not half inconsiderate. “There is no doubt that the motherland would seek to incorporate new lands for herself.” In a softer voice, he spoke in case it gave his comrades the idea that they could disagree with the admiral.
Radilov held up a hand and stopped his admiral who could do nothing but fall quiet also, withdrawing away having failed to convince his commander, wishing that he behaved more like his father instead.
“You are receiving command over your own ship soon, Tiberis, and you cannot be this soft on the battlefield for it will be your end.” Radilov scolded, harsher than before. “Your brother, your sister wherever the fuck she is, understands this well enough, yet you refuse to learn.” Looking over his shoulder with an irritated stare, his eyes peered into the boy’s soul.
The lieutenant lowered his head and was reduced to two words, “Yes, father.”
Stepping back into the shadow, he did not dare speak out of turn again. Often undermined, his spirit to fight, his soul to live, waned by the day until it was dark, not with evil, but without color like his black uniform that was plain and uninteresting. He had few ornaments from the ranks on his sleeves and shoulders to the embroidery around his collar but it did not appear like he wore it with pride but rather, he seemed to have been forced. Bearing an enclosed posture, delicate, his doubting face said everything anyone needed to know about him. His green eyes, muted like the malachite earrings he wore, were shaded by his pale blonde hair, neatly made that gave others the false impression that he was from another noble family. After all, the boy looked nothing like his father nor brother for he was pretty, almost model-esque, but all the admiral saw in him was weakness in his heart that he had inherited from his dead mother.
Radilov let out a sigh and returned to his junior admirals who sensed an awkwardness steal the air but as he closed his eyes and took another breath to calm himself, a bell suddenly rung out.
“Enemy fleet to the starboard!” The captain yelled beside his crew who worked with emergency.
Grunting, the admiral stood upright and turned around, seeking what it might have been that stirred his men when he saw a faint glow of a red flare hanging in the sky. Past the fog and clouds, the light grew dimmer as it fell, drawing his eyes towards the culprit of the disturbance where there in the distance, an array of amberish tones flashed from the muzzles of turrets appearing out of the fog.
The captain turned to his admirals and swung his arm downward. “Brace!” He cried out before he took to his knee.
Everyone dropped to the ground, tightly holding onto the table and chairs around them, bracing themselves, but before they could make ready their hearts, a barrage of shells landed on the fleet. A few crashed into the sea and though it did little damage when it struck the hulls of ships, an unlucky few had scored in the devil’s lottery. They had not thought that the enemy would appear so soon and that they could trust their engineers who welded their ships tight but with their flash doors pried upon, rounds dived into their turrets and its flames broke into their armory. Entire vessels suddenly erupted like grenades from within, blasting outwards chunks of steel and ammunition. Shrapnel were flung hundreds of paces into the air, accompanying the black plumes and tails of flames. The Rus halted their fire in confusion but the attack did not end. Volley after volley, growing more accurate by the minute, the enemy fleet attacked. The battleships in the center of the Rus fleet were lucky that they had not been targeted but that could have been the enemy’s tactic to divert their attention. Realizing this, the admirals and crew rose from the ground, their hearts still calm, however, their eye became drawn to their ships which were being sunk by the minute as if they were being scuttled.
One stayed eerily calmer than his men with his hands behind his back, watching his precious fleet be slowly reduced to scrap metal, but he had long expected for the Danner to take his bait. “All units, forty degrees to the starboard.” Radilov ordered in a mild tone without his usual wrath.
The signal was given before the watchman hurried out of the bridge and shot another flare into the sky. The engines of the fleet rumbled, lining themselves up with their port side facing the enemy as their turrets rotated. Before they were in position, the captain turned to the commander for his order but he was in no rush. Waiting, as even more of his sailors perished from the shelling, until every gun in his sight have become aligned, then he gave the order with a nod. The captain relayed his command to his pilot who pulled on the lever of a telegraph post that passed the bridge’s signal to the gunners below, but before he could rest easy, the captain had spotted something sailing towards them on their flank. He muttered something to his pilot about the signals of the incoming vessel but he replied with a shake of his head.
Sure that his eyes were not lying, he turned towards the foreign object again and pointed at it. “Admiral! Frigate on the port!” The captain shouted, his voice becoming sore. “They’re not heeding our signals!”
The admirals directed themselves to the port side of the bridge, inching closer to the window to see what it was. Standing his ground behind them, Radilov turned his eyes only when it became needed and crossed his arms as he watched the frigate, one of their own, approach. Their signal lamps did not reply nor were their flags being used. The ship moved in the dark with its bridge unlit as the reflections of turret fire shone on its hull and glass. Out of the fog, she had weaved past the fleet’s formation, through the admiral’s wall of battleships and appearing before the flagship. Radilov needed not wonder much as to who was piloting that vessel and he was in no mood to want to board the frigate to find out that the captain may have thought that he wished to do.
“Portside cannons, captain.” Maintaining his composure, Radilov gave his order.
“Aye, sir.” Heeding immediately, the captain turned to his crew. “Portside cannons!” He repeated, loudly and clearly.
Radilov stared down his foe that came into light, gliding towards him without a sound, without a word. The lieutenant raised his head, curious as to what the commotion was about even if he did not wish to show it. As the frigate neared and became larger in their view, he turned away from the fight, knowing what would happen to those aboard that ship, not out of fear, but because he knew that his father, the bringer of death, had already ended their fight.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHKbxxeNhR0
