The first flag admiral nodded, seeming approving of his ambitions. “Hence, Alben.” He was right to deduce.
“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. The camp was clearly divided, morally and politically. Those who held the old order in the highest regard agreed unhesitatingly, while a number of those more moderate 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 or were too afraid to speak up against the admiral, there was one, far younger in age and rank, who felt the need to interrupt.
“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 his commander had allowed this lieutenant to stay to learn about the goings-on of admirals in preparation for his inevitable future.
Fearing for him, the junior admirals halted whatever they were doing. Their eyes switched focus, moving back and forth between the lieutenant and admiral, as they sweated from their scalps.
Choosing not to face his lieutenant, Radilov lifted 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, ignoring the many eyes watching 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 his advisors would not dare question him. They followed his orders, even when they seemed illogical, because they had seen him prove himself right too many times on the battlefield, in government, and in life. As usual, they remained silent and averted their eyes from the growing intensity radiating 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 had 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.
The air heated, and the elder colour admiral leaned in closer. “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.” He spoke in a softer voice to prevent his comrades from thinking they could disagree with the admiral.
Radilov raised his hand to stop his advisor, who fell silent, having failed to convince his commander. But he wished that the admiral would behave more like his father.
“You are receiving command over your ship soon, Tiberis, and you cannot be this soft on the battlefield, for it will be your end.” Radilov scolded him, 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 irritation, 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 and his soul to live waned by the day until it was dark, not with evil, but without colour, like his black uniform that was plain and uninteresting. He had few ornaments on his sleeves and shoulders, as well as some embroidery around his collar, but he did not seem to wear them with pride. Rather, he seemed forced. His posture was enclosed, delicate, and 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, which gave others the false impression that he was from another noble family. After all, the boy resembled neither his father nor his brother. He was attractive, almost model-esque, in a way that contrasted with Aurelius's boyishness. However, all the admiral saw in him was the weakness of heart inherited from his deceased mother.
Radilov let out a sigh and returned to his junior admirals, who sensed awkwardness, but as he closed his eyes and took another breath to calm himself, a bell suddenly rang out.
“Enemy fleet to the starboard!” The captain yelled out beside his crew, who worked in emergency.
Grunting, the admiral stood upright and turned around, seeing 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 in the distance, where 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 their 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 open, rounds dived into their turrets and flames broke into their armoury. Entire vessels suddenly erupted like grenades from within. Shrapnel was flung hundreds of paces into the air, accompanying black plumes. 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 centre 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. Realising this, the admirals and crew rose from the ground, their hearts still calm. However, their eyes became drawn to their ships, which were being sunk as if they were being scuttled.
The admiral stayed eerily calmer than his men with his hands behind his back, watching his precious fleet be slowly reduced to scraps, but he had long expected the Danner to take his bait. “All units, forty degrees to the starboard.” Radilov ordered without his usual wrath.
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. He waited until every gun in sight was aligned, even as more of his sailors perished from the shelling, and then he nodded.
The captain relayed his command to his pilot, who pulled the lever of a telegraph post that transmitted the bridge’s signal to the gunners below. However, before he could relax, the captain spotted something sailing towards their flank. He muttered to his pilot, but he replied with a shake of his head.
Certain 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.
Its signal lamps did not reply, nor were its 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 appeared before the flagship. Radilov did not need to wonder who was piloting that vessel, and he was not inclined to board the frigate to find out.
“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, who emerged into the light and glided towards him silently. The lieutenant lifted 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, 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 this fight.305Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYJ5AeozL3n
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