Tigra
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Four Year Special
🕑 Added 2024-09-30 20:05:18 +0000 UTC_________________________________________________________________________________
On a windswept day long, long ago. Before, the skies would know the gilded heraldry of the royal guard, the Authority of the crown, the prying of the inquisition, or even the blight of the darkling. A bitter war was fought, the first war in the heavens. The first war of heaven and hell.
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“How long ’til arrival?” Captain Kalsteri asked over his shoulder towards the young runner who had been bringing them updates from Colonel Tajhin and his command staff. The young lad held a polished gold timepiece, likely a magical one. He came from money after all.
“15 minutes left. Reported speed 45 minutes ago was 85 knots at a range of 110 kilometers.”
“We should be seeing them any minute then. Right lads and ladies, you all ready?” the captain called out, turning back from his little peephole through their cover. He and his squad were laying in ambush, waiting for a convoy of those damn Thatchi.
It was supposedly returning from Lavernor, the fellow city-state to their east, loaded down with spoils of war. Supplies, gold, and of course slaves. The plan was a simple one: ambush the convoy as it passed under the island of Nisandel. The fish always stuck under islands. The damn things were born in the shade and would rather stay there.
Sadly for Kalsteri and his fellow dragons and dragonettes alike, those damn Thatchi didn’t seem content with whatever foul creatures they could find in the depths of hell, and so they went hunting the noble skies for all that they could find. They had been fighting for years now. Cities burned to ash, islands wiped of life, and fortresses cracked like tasty nuts.
But they had learned. The steel monsters of the Thatchi were not invincible, nor were they untamable. Their home, the citystate of Nisandel, had an ace up their sleeve: a captured vessel of Thatchi design. The frigate Kunanu as they had renamed her. And they had squads of soldiers such as his own. The boarding squad as they had come to be known. Trained and equipped to open those steel monsters to the world and ruin the delicate machinery which made them tick.
“We uncorking then, boss?” Corporal Klar questioned, holding the precious bottle at the ready.
“No, you leave that stuff for a touchdown on deck, you hear me? And you pray you have a stronger throat than most,” Kalsteri answered in no uncertain manner. The potion of white fire breathing was yet another weapon developed for fighting the Thatchi. The effect was undeniable, but there were risks inherent in pushing the limits of magic. He himself knew them well. His armor may well survive any punishment, but he would not. Impact mitigation, adamantium outer skin, strength enhancements, frost powder cooling. Even the air he breathed could be filtered to fight in toxic gas, and the power of the forests flowed through his very veins, his own magics boosted far beyond anything he could ever train to achieve.
His whole squad was equipped in a similar fashion. The expense was exorbitant. Mithril plating, adamantine weaponry, firebombs, potions. Corporals Ulrik and Nakanien wore lacewing armor and carried Thatchi-designed weaponry, stolen and modified following years of war. They could kill from a distance without ever being seen. Today they would serve as lookouts, never landing, only watching and talking with Kalsteri and the rest of the squad through their helmets. They were well-trained, some of them were even experienced. Today was the day they proved their mettle.
“We’re good, boss. We’ve been waiting for hours already, just say the word.”
“Very well. Ready at a moment's notice, we may not spot the enemy from here,” Kalsteri ordered as he went back to peeking out his little slit. His and 6 other boarding squads were all hiding spread along the island, a wing of dragons as well as their lone frigate lying in wait on the upper side of the island.
If the Thatchi decided to pass above them, they would be completely exposed, but all they had to do was stick to their habits, the arrogant bastards. Thinking they could conquer the sky with nothing but steam and metal. They would show them. Oooh, how they would show them.
The wait only grew worse and worse as the runner called out, 10 minutes… 5 minutes… 0… plus 5.
They waited, reciting prayers to the gods above for strength and protection. The plan would work, of course it would work. The Thatchi never deviated from their set course. They were unrelenting in their advance.
As they all waited for the plus 10 call out, Klar spoke up again. “Sir, have you tried calling to hear if anyone topside has seen something?”
It was Kalsteri who had the only line that could talk outside of their unit. “No, they would inform us if they had,” he replied simply. Of course they would. If that had happened, they would be screaming for whatever reinforcements they could muster immediately.
Then he heard a crackle in his ear.
“Target sighted bearing 076.”
“We’ve got them,” the captain called out as he drew a sharp breath. “Final checks.”
Behind him bottles were uncorked and downed, all save the volatile concoction Klar and Gerlin were carrying. Potions of enhanced strength. Kalsteri himself opened the top half of his helmet just enough that he could slip in the single white and glittery pill. Its contents were too much of an expense to suffer for even a unit such as his. This was a personal expense. Powdered unicorn horn.
His eyes narrowed as he felt his heart start to race. The rest of his squad would have to make do with sugars and potions, but he would have pure power coursing through him.
“Remove safeties.”
The clicks of metal rang out as everyone pulled the safety pins on the bombs strapped to their hips and chest rigs. They would serve double duty today, both as an initial salvo to hopefully clear the enemy decks and as ballast to quicken their dives.
Everyone sat tense as he watched their targets finally come into view, his helmet crackling again.
“Wait… wait… we want to come down on top of them. Course is looking good.”
‘Accurate to a fault,’ Kalsteri mused to himself as finally the order came.
“CHARGE!”
He stepped forward, a hand placed against the top of their hide as he flung it open and threw himself head first out over the edge and into the vertical dive, wings hammering for the first few seconds to get up to speed. Behind him, his squad scrambled to follow. It was now or never. They had to beat the guns to make deckfall.
On the vessels below, alarms and horns soon started blaring, those sickening creatures scrambling around on decks to ready their light guns.
The convoy numbered 18 ships in total, but only 4 escorts. Those were their targets. Board and incapacitate, allowing the dragons and Kunanu to deal with the freighters and slave ships. 4 targets, and only 8 boarding squads, backed up by regular units armed with anything from lances to bows and arrows to stolen Thatchi weapons. He had seen one crazed noble this morning sporting nothing but a dagger and a bomb the size of his torso, clearly of Thatchi make.
The only other formations present anyone expected great things from were the paladins of Tula and Kalador. Their targets: the slave ships.
Kalsteri had fought alongside paladins before. They would fight to the death, every last one of them, and imbued with the power of the gods themselves they were fierce. Once he had seen one eat through solid steel and walk through scalding steam as if it were nothing.
Such blessings were only for those of the cloth. But still, Kalsteri muttered his prayers as they dived. To Tula, to Kalador, to Norik, and to Ishan. Below he was certain the Thatchi were doing the same, beseeching their dark gods for aid. It should not be scoffed at, since they received their boons as often as did the people of the skies. Many a blade had been pushed aside by a heartfelt prayer. Many an enchantment rendered useless.
As the batteries opened up and time began to slow, his magic kicked in. He prayed to Oleg that his divine artifice may not smite him or fail him this day. It was all or nothing, no retreat, no surrender. Into the skies, to victory or die.
The hail of bullets screamed skywards, several impacting the island behind and above them. The Thatchi didn’t have the range yet, and with enough speed they would never get it. Twin-linked pintle guns spit hundreds of rounds per minute as the dragonettes ducked and dived through the hail of fire. Behind him he heard hits made, but one did not look back. Only forward, trying to predict the next bit of clear airspace. With time creeping on at a snail's pace, he could see the projectiles coming in, one by one. Dancing around them as he led the way, diving faster and faster.
Columns of black smoke and fire spewed from the stacks as the vessels ordered every revolution they could and started to dive away from the threat. Normally trying to out dive a steel coffin built for the oceans below was a fool's errand. But today they knew better. The transports, they had captured some of them far up north. And the news was honey to their ears. The artificers of the fortress city of Elthlon had divined that their boilers could not survive such a maneuver. Kalsteri did not know why; what he knew was that the escorts could not abandon their charges, they would not. Hence the dives would be mild, simply for show.
They carried on their harrowing dive, getting closer and closer as Kalsteri’s helmet blared again and again, reports of casualties rolling in. He paid them no mind and pushed forwards. “RELEASE!” he roared out with the channel open as he ripped the leather cord holding the rack of bomblets strewn across his chest. The 4 oblong finned devices fell away as he flared his wings just enough to open the range that he would not blow himself to pieces. Behind him the others all did similarly, and below the Thatchi faced a choice. Stay and take advantage of the vulnerable dragonettes, or flee in the hopes of surviving the incoming barrage.
Most fled. As the guns fell silent, bombs rained down. And with flashes of heat the bomblets impacted and detonated. He watched the fireballs grow like angry spots on the ship, shrapnel clearing the decks of any who had stood their ground.
With practiced precision, he alighted upon the deck, limbs sluggish as they strained to keep up with his slowed perception of time. Around him more came down. Not all, but enough. There was enough of them here to do their job.
Drawing his sword, he led the way, rehearsing in his head, ‘Hideki class light cruiser. Enter behind the second funnel. Down 2 levels, turn right, forward 4 doors, and take 5th on your right.’ He knew these vessels. They had practiced with mockups and models many times before.
Above, Ulrik and Nakanien started to circle the ruined decks, their armor blending into the skies above and making hitting them in the chaos a near impossible task. Yet they drew fire and attention.
Charging across the deck to the door, shield held in front of him, he watched a Thatchi infantryman standing upon deck, his side bespeckled with green blood and in his hands a rifle powered by the signature bulky backpack. He braced as the enemy soldier fired the solid lead round. It sailed through the air slow enough that he could track it. Pinching his eyes shut, it impacted the enchanted shield and he could feel the breath leave him for a moment as his limbs grew heavier. Above him, Ulrik fired and he did not miss either, the captain watching as the Thatchi’s chest was ripped apart in slow motion.
The fish people never wore armor, only those hideous black shiny suits. A mistake they would pay dearly for. They reached the door, a solid steel bulkhead closed and latched from the inside. It refused to budge as Kalsteri tried and failed to turn the handle
“Klar!” he called out, taking a step back. The young corporal ran up beside him holding the glowing bottle of yellow and white as Tilur and Rentan took up stations either side of the door. Only now did he notice that the man was missing an arm and part of his tail, though he seemed to not even notice.
‘By the power of the brewmasters,’ Kalsteri thought to himself as the young man downed his second sizable potion of the day. To do so was by no means advised, but neither was charging through hails of fire designed to bring you down.
The young man stomached the potion and they could feel as well as see the heat radiating off him as he opened his maw and spit white-hot fire at the locked and barred door. The metal melted away in mere moments under the onslaught.
And with the spray the young man screamed as the smell of burning flesh filled the air. Kalsteri's shoulders drooped, another faulty bottle. The fire carried on erupting, burning and cooking the young man alive in his armor. The mithril glowed bright as fire started licking out of every chink and hole, his eyes popping like grapes and leaving nothing but empty holes as he fell to his knees. The armor, now his coffin, held him up like an empty husk.
They spared but a moment to stare. Someone uttered a prayer over the shared channel before Kalsteri ordered, “Grenade.” Tilur answered by quickly leaning around the hole and tossing in a breaching bomb. The potent mixture of flash, well-aged blitz, and other magical concoctions was designed to kill, maim, and disorient.
With a flash of heat and a crack of thunder the corridor was lit up for Kalsteri to see, and the otherworldly screams of Thatchi spurred him on.
“Advance!” he ordered, pushing the young man's corpse aside as he entered through the hole, molten metal dripping onto his armor as he went inside.
The stairwell was filled with smoke and dark as pitch. He reached for his helmet and soon everything was bright once more, and the air he breathed was clean and crisp. There were Thatchi lying on the floor, some coughing for air, others moving to brandish weapons. Time slowed once more as he rushed forward, the blade flashing straight through parries and carving heads from torsos in perfect strike after perfect strike. Diving down he rushed through the disoriented defenders. Behind him he heard armored footsteps descend and what survivors he had missed met their end. From the bottom of the stairs two more Thatchi barged in, raising weapons and fired in a rush. one was caught on the shield, the other hit Kalsteri in the shoulder. He grunted in pain as the enchantments flared. The armor didn’t hold. He felt his right arm grow limp, bone cracking in his shoulder.
No retreat, no surrender. He charged the two abyssal creatures, bashing one aside with his shield as he threw himself at the one who had hit his target, jaws open. The Thatchi screamed, holding up his arms to defend himself, but the puny creature was no match for him. He carried the blessing of the gods, the very power of the land was flowing through his veins, and his armor granted strength most could only dream of.
He bit down on the screaming creature of darkness, death, and conquest, clamping down until it went limp under him. The rest of his squad rushed by him as he moved to pin down the other creature of the deep, looking to get a second bite. As he lifted back his shield to get at the disgusting creature, green blood already burning in his throat, the smaller fishlike amphibian creature didn’t meet him with fear or a useless attempt to surrender. Its face was stern. Determined. And in its hand was a far smaller weapon. Kalsteri had seen one before, it was a pistol… as only his soul would know.
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“Move it move it move it! 5th door on the right!” Tilur called out to the others. He did not know how many remained, but if they succeeded their deaths would not be in vain. The escorts had to be destroyed, else their torpedoes and heavy guns would decimate the wings of dragons and their own captured vessel. They did not have the manpower to capture this cruiser, but maybe they had enough to put it down for good.
“Here it is!” Gerlin called out, the powerfully built male kicking in a bulkhead door after opening the dogs.
‘We are still ahead of them, perfect,’ Tilur thought to himself as they charged inside. It was a slaughter. Unprepared engineers and stokers picking up what tools they had to try and defend themselves, no soldiers to be seen. Behind them, Jako closed the door, remaining behind to bar it shut. He would buy them time.
Gerlin and Tilur advanced deeper into the halls of machinery, cutting down everyone they saw as they went. Their target was further back, the central lift chamber and the precious vials within. Hundreds of dead dragonettes condensed down to nothing but blue sludge. Tilur would see the vials returned home for safekeeping, if they were all that made it out of this accursed vessel.
Without them, the ship was doomed to fall out of the sky. Sadly the Thatchi knew well enough to not risk such vessels over land often where they could be salvaged for use against them, as they had the Kunanu. The vials were the reason the Thatchi were here. To harvest fuel for the precious flying contraptions that let them leave the depths of hell where they belonged.
Soon enough they laid eyes on the unholy contraption. A maze of pipes, valves, and gauges, steam hissing as the pipes shook and creaked under the immense pressures being harnessed to keep the steel behemoth aloft.
“You wanna do the honors?” Tilur questioned as they both beheld the lift chamber.
“No, go ahead, and let’s be out of here. We still got a shot at making it back out.” Gerlin replied, busy looking for any threat, still breathing.
“If you say so,” Tilur replied, less than certain. He would try to the last, but he was far from convinced he would ever see the sky again. Taking a moment to decipher the strange text written on the various valves and levers, he heard Gerlin turn and brandish his shield as a Thatchi engineer screamed out and charged at them. Tilur whipped his head around to witness the strange creature wielding nothing but a large wrench get run through with a longsword, a gurgling cough the last it ever spoke.
“Get on with it would you, they ain’t gonna give up.”
“Right right. Uhm… this one,” Tilur went, finally finding the right lever. “Emergency pressure release.”
Heaving on it, there was a deafening hiss of steam as they were both engulfed by the cold cloud, ice forming on their visors as the trio of gauges front and center fell to zero. The familiar feeling of weightlessness befell them as the vessel started dropping from the sky. Further down the hallway, a sundering explosion rang out, echoing through the machinery spaces again and again.
“They are through the door! Quickly!” Gerlin called out as Tilur dropped one of the racks of capsules out. The chamber held 12 of them in 2 banks of 6, each hooked up to the mess of pipes individually.
Grabbing the first one, he pulled with all his might as the cold burned through his gauntleted hand, but it refused to budge.
“They won’t come out! Ahrg! They're frozen in place!” He bashed at it with his sword-hilt to no effect. The capsules were frozen solid into their mountings.
“What do we-
“Move!” Gerlin called out as Tilur turned to look, horrified to see his fellow soldier had uncorked his bottle of white fire as well. Behind him, four Thatchi were crawling along the wall, brandishing steam rifles. They dared not shoot out of fear of hitting their precious machine but they would be upon them in moments.
Tilur froze, staring. They had to get the capsules. It was hundreds of souls, maybe thousands. They couldn’t abandon them. As he stared, Gerlin did not hesitate a moment longer and drank his bottle, the Thatchi lunging at him as he did. They did their best to pin him to the ground, but he was stronger than they. His armor protected him from their stabbing blades, and the fire erupted from his maw. The white hot sparkling fire engulfed Tilur as well as the accursed machinery.
Even his enchanted armor was no match for a fire which could melt stone. Tilur clawed at his face as the lens in his visor cracked and the metal plates fused to his body, burning him alive. The Thatchi desperately tried to close Gerlin's mouth, their hands burning away as they tried. Then there was a sudden explosion as something burst. The monumental pressure of the cold steam was unleashed, erasing all life within the compartment in mere moments.
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“Colonel Tajhin, the cruiser is sinking to the waves. The fighting aboard the remaining destroyer is reported as very fierce. It will likely not be able to take action.”
“Very well, notify Admiral Hideki. Kunanu is cleared to advance. Eliminate the destroyer, force the surrender of the transports. Dragon wings to seize the slave ships just as planned.”
“Yes, sir,” the orderly answered, running off to send the message to the admiral leading the second phase of the attack.
“A damn shame about those escorts. What we couldn’t do with a few of those,” one of the lieutenants said wistfully as the red pieces were removed from the board.
“Right you are,” the general replied coldly. “A terrible waste of both their strength and ours."
“Are you not worried they will learn from this defeat, General?”
“I am counting on it.”
“What in the gods' names do you mean?... my apologies,” the young lieutenant burst out, quickly catching himself as he realized what he just did. Tajhin didn’t even know how old the officer was, maybe 16 at most. It was to be expected.
“We need ships and we cannot build anything that can fight for the sky as they can. Thus we must take it instead. Hopefully, they will not let us dive upon them like this again. Send word to headquarters back in the city. Squads 3 thought 11 lost in action, performance acceptable, request replacements right away.”
“Of course, colonel, right away.”
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And there we are, your second tasting of naval combat on the planet of Oka and our first adventure truly into days past. I've been sitting on the full timeline for this world for years. Finally put it to some proper use.
Mark my words we will get to see more of days gone by in the world of HoH but maybe that will have to wait for another special some time in the future. For now. I hope you enjoyed the special. Thank you for 4 fun years, and here is to many many more. I won't run out of ideas for decades that's for sure. So let's see how long this train can go for.
Until next time. Take care!
