Chapter 133: Chapter 132: Draconic Wrath (4)

November 17, 1640

Holy Mirishial Navy Zeroth Fleet

HMS Quasar

Flurries of commands and words flew across the battlefield as individual ships reported their situations up the chain of command. If not for the communication system set up by the Americans, Admiral Tetryon would have struggled to keep up with the various happenings in the battle. With the help of his communications officers, he kept tabs on the numerous groups that his forces were split into for organizational purposes, from squadrons to battlegroups. However, there was one particular channel that he paid the most attention to – the Pal Chimera’s channel.

“We can’t avoid the rockets! Full power to shields!” The Pal Chimera’s captain’s words echoed through the Mirishial command network, the underlying fear in his words spreading throughout the ranks of officers. 

Then, the unimaginable happened. The rockets slammed into the Pal Chimera’s shields, each explosion generating more cracks until the shields finally gave way, erupting in a shrill cry of shattering glass. With this deafening cry, all heads turned to the skies in order to locate the source of the sound. All heads were then introduced to the unfathomable sight of a Pal Chimera condemned with certain doom.

“Fuck!” The captain screamed. “All hands, abandon sh–”

There was little distance between the now-defunct shields and the hull of the Pal Chimera itself. The rockets thus spared little time, slamming into the ancient superweapon and bombarding its exterior hull with a series of blue explosions. The souls inside had little time to react, and none to escape.

The gruesome sight of a burning Pal Chimera, outer stabilizers falling from the sky and central command node breaking apart, struck despair into the hearts of the EDI combatants. Even the stoic Admiral Tetryon did not remain unaffected; in fact, he felt it the most out of anyone else in his fleet. His resolve began to crack, verging on the point of shattering like the falling Pal Chimera’s shields. 

If he faltered now, everyone under his command would falter. However, he didn’t even care anymore. What was the point of remaining composed in the face of such terrible circumstances? He continued to stare at the falling symbol of Mirishial power, not a single muscle in his body able to move. Then, he felt something on his shoulder. The Eimorian, Commander Draudak, was shaking him aggressively. 

“Admiral! Admiral! Get a hold of your senses!” Draudak yelled, his bellowing roar bringing Tetryon back to reality. 

Tetryon did come back to his senses, but all he could do afterward was sigh despondently. “It may be time to signal a retreat…” he muttered.

“Retreat?!” Draudak recoiled in shock, “There can be no such cowardice! Heed the reports of your men,” he said, allowing one of the Mirishial officers on board to speak.

“Sir,” the ship’s captain spoke, “We’re nearly in missile range. We’re ready to fire at the enemy on your command.”

These promising words lit a spark of hope in Tetryon’s heart. There was still a chance to turn the battle around and force the Gra Valkans out of the Hytal region. Or at the very least, exact vengeance for the loss of the Pal Chimera. “Very well,” Tetryon said, life and vigor returning to his eyes, “We shall launch a counterattack alongside the Plasma Dragons, targeting the Gra Valkans’ capital ships.” He turned to a communications officer, “How are our forces?” 

“We’ve lost nearly half of our fighters, but we managed to eliminate at least 200 enemy aircraft — fighters and bombers combined. As for our fleet, we lost 16 destroyers, 6 cruisers, two Gold-class battleships and 3 light carriers.”

The casualties weren’t bad, considering the numerical advantage that the Gra Valkans had over them. However, the casualties were so low only because the Gra Valkans were hoping to eliminate their anti-air capabilities before committing the rest of their forces. American training and equipment also aided their destroyers in dealing with the submarines, who struggled to land hits amidst turbulent waters and magic defenses. With the Pal Chimera gone and half of their fighters in the sea, there was little they could do to stop the Gra Valkans from tearing apart their ships from above. They had but one option: charge forward and eliminate the Gra Valkan carriers before they could deploy a critical mass of aircraft. 

“Very well. Ensure that as many of our fighters are resupplied for the next battle. We shall close the distance between ourselves and the enemy fleet as best we can, then launch all missiles at their carriers. The Eimorians’ Plasma Dragons will launch their own strike at the same time, covered by our fighters. Their objective is to clean up any remaining Gra Valkan carriers. If our fighters outnumber theirs at that time, then the Plasma Dragons will continue their attacks. If not, then they will fall back after one volley at which point they will regroup with our fleet for a combined strike.”

——

GVN Carrier Air Wing 4

Fenrir Squadron

Captain Sinhelm had never experienced such an exhilarating thrill in his life. Although it had been a few minutes since his successful mission, he could still feel the rumbling echoes of the falling saucer. He could still feel the way his airframe shuddered as the Mirishial superweapon ripped itself apart with a massive final explosion. Even now, his heartbeat remained rapid and his fingers remained jittery. 

Of course, such feelings were not unwarranted. After all, they had accomplished what even the Grade Atlastar herself could not — destroy a Mirishial saucer. Yet, despite their grand achievement, the battle was far from over. Now back on their carrier to resupply, they prepared to face a threat unlike anything they had ever seen. 

The enemy’s Plasma Dragons were flying reptilians, much like the wyverns they had previously faced. Like their smaller cousins, they attacked via a projectile formed in their mouths. However, that’s where the similarities ended. Unlike the wyverns of Leifor and other countries in the Mu continent, the Plasma Dragons have far greater magic capacity and intelligence. There was no telling what other attacks these creatures could pull off. 

“It doesn’t matter what tricks they have up their sleeves, sir,” Sinhelm’s wingman said, reassuring the entire squadron, “Whatever they’ve got, it can’t be worse than the Pal Chimera’s shields and point defenses.”

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Sinhelm’s mood lightened significantly. He chuckled, loosening his grip on his fighter’s controls, “Yeah. They’re nothing but bigger wyverns with more armor. And we’ve got the perfect answer: bigger rockets.”

A series of whoops and cheers echoed through the radio, affirming Sinhelm’s words. Having brought down one of the Holy Mirishial Empire’s ‘invincible’ superweapons, there was little that could tear down their inflated morale. With spirit in their hearts and confidence in their abilities, they launched back into the skies, one by one. 

Sinhelm felt himself pulled back into his seat as he was catapulted off the carrier’s runway, accelerating to speeds that a wyvern could never hope to match. As he pulled up and began to circle around the fleet in preparation for an attack, a sudden development froze the blood in his veins. Destroyers and cruisers in the fleet began firing their anti-air guns into the sky, covering the capital ships with layers of defensive fire. At the same time, his own carrier issued an announcement to his fellow pilots.

“Incoming missiles! All fighters move to —”

The transmission was abruptly cut short as the carrier he just took off from was engulfed in a bluish explosion, barely catching his wingman as he catapulted off the deck and sending his damaged fighter spiraling into the ocean. Other pilots were not so lucky; they were blown away uncontrollably or caught in the blast itself, unable to escape the carrier.

The gruesome sight was repeated tenfold, as more missiles emerged from the clouds above and slammed into their targets – all of them carriers. The Mirishials even deployed new tactics in response to the Gra Valkans’ anti-missile adaptations: they started to vary their launches, striking light carriers with one missile and sending two at the better-defended fleet carriers. They too recognized the importance of aircraft in a naval battle, and sought to eliminate the sole advantage that the Gra Valkans had. 

The pillars of the First Conquest Fleet’s air superiority fell one after another, sinking to the bottom of the ocean alongside hundreds of planes still in the middle of resupply operations. A total of 48 missiles bombarded the Gra Valkan fleet, wiping out 16 escort carriers, 6 fleet carriers, and 6 battleships. Dozens of destroyers and cruisers were caught in the crossfire, suffering varying degrees of damage from the resulting explosions. Thus, it took mere seconds for the tide of battle to be turned, leaving the Gra Valkans now playing the part of the besieged defenders. 

Sinhelm did a quick check of his forces. Entire squadrons were gone, but he still had 95 fighters across 12 squadrons. The carriers had prioritized deployment of Antares Kaiser units, so they didn’t lose any of them, but these numbers still worried him. 40 Kaiser and 55 standard units were a hefty number, but they wouldn’t be able to protect the hundreds of bombers that still remained and defend their fleet from enemy bombers at the same time. 95 planes to do all that, plus eliminate the enemy Plasma Dragons? The best he could do at this point was deal as much damage as possible to the enemy in hopes of forcing a retreat.

“All squadrons, we’ll be targeting the incoming Plasma Dragons. Our bombers will push forward to draw some of the enemy fighters away while we focus on the dragons! If we can beat a saucer, then surely we shall triumph over mere dragons!” Sinhelm declared. In his heart he knew that this wouldn’t be possible, but he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try to rally his men.

Soon enough, the Plasma Dragons showed up, accompanied by hundreds of aircraft and the bulk of the Zeroth Fleet. There was no way that the Mirishials had such numbers, so they must be using more decoys. Having learned from the first skirmish, he and his comrades knew that the decoys could not shoot, and mostly flew in straight lines. Having a way to tell apart the decoys from the real targets was helpful, but he wondered how well he could identify decoys in the heat of combat.

As if anticipating this, the Mirishials preemptively intermixed the decoys with their standard ranks, with some of the lead planes being real this time. Sinhelm’s men missed some of their shots, striking decoys, but quickly corrected their fire once they realized that some of the enemy planes weren’t firing back. Although the Antares fighters had superior maneuverability, they were still susceptible to being caught off guard. Dozens of enemy fighters went down, but at a cost of a few of their own.

Sinhelm’s eyes narrowed. He hated this fact, but there was little he could do about it. He dismissed these thoughts as he focused on training his sights on an enemy fighter ahead of him. He released a calm breath, taking the shot. Bright sparks bounced off the target’s chassis, signifying a direct hit. The Mirishial fighter proceeded to fall out of the sky, smoke trailing from its lifeless airframe.

There was no way he could accomplish all objectives given his forces, so Sinhelm decided to go for the most efficient one – one that would deal the greatest damage to the enemy. “Ragnarok Leader, have your men form up on me! We’ll be targeting the closest dragon on radar!”

“Copy that, Fenris Leader. En route now.”

10 additional Antares Kaisers soon joined Sinhelm’s group of 11 as they busted through the wall of enemy fighters, downing inferior Alpha-3 fighters with minimal effort. The closer they got to the Plasma Dragon, the more resistance they encountered. Mirishial fighters began to converge on them from numerous angles, with such a spread that it was impossible to determine how many were decoys. Sinhelm knew he had a low chance of survival, but regardless, he was determined to give his all for the Gra Valkas Empire.

“Fire!” Sinhelm commanded, launching his own rockets as he gave the order. 

Dozens of rockets flew toward the Plasma Dragon, slamming into it before it could unleash its attack on the Gra Valkan ships below. Charred scales and chunks of meat flew from its abdomen as rockets detonated at center mass. It emitted a shrill cry from the pain, reaching Sinhelm’s ears even under the thick glass canopy of his fighter. Sinhelm winced, temporarily losing control of his plane.

Although a momentary oversight, this mistake was enough for a pair of Mirishial fighters to flank him. “Shit, this is Fenris One, I’ve got two bogeys on my tail!” Sinhelm desperately cried out. Other distress calls and communications came through his headpiece, but he could barely make out their words through the dragon’s death throes. It was doubtful that anyone heard his plea for help.

He tried to shake the fighters off his tail, rolling and turning in ways unimaginable to the inferior Alpha-3 fighters. Try as he might, the fighters somehow managed to keep up. He turned back to look, discovering that they were in fact Alpha-4 fighters. One of them then fired a rocket at his plane. Seeing this gave him a sliver of hope; if the enemy pilot was that incompetent to waste a rocket on his agile fighter, then he might be able to come out of this after all.

He swerved to avoid the rocket and looked back only to find that the rocket had adjusted course. His eyes widened in fear, realizing the horror of the nightmare he had just witnessed. He didn’t even have time to react before an explosion rocked his craft, tearing apart his plane’s tail and shredding its wings. By some miracle, he survived, but now he was falling from the sky with no control over his Kaiser whatsoever. 

He desperately worked to pop his canopy, barely managing to do so before his plane slammed into the water. He jumped and fortunately found a piece of floating debris to latch onto. Now out of the battle, he had nothing to do but spectate. 

The two remaining Plasma Dragons continued their mission, obliterating their targets with magical plasma and cooking unfortunate vessels caught in the vicinity of their main targets. The Gra Valkan side offered little resistance; he could only assume that the rest of his comrades were shot down. As if realizing this defeat, the Gra Valkan fleet began to pull back, leaving behind a handful of cruisers and destroyers to keep the enemy occupied while everyone else retreated. Indeed, this was a nightmare. Unable to contain his emotions, Sinhelm allowed the tears to flow, crying until he was eventually dragged out of the water by a Mirishial rescue team.

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