Fourth Vector Ch. 16

The message that had brought him such elation was the recent receipt of a new battleship from their main shipbuilder, JN Ironworks. The ship that was to be called theCharles IX was now ready for commissioning. Unlike its namesake, this was to prove to be one magnificent vessel. The first Javan battleship to come off the line in nearly five years, it was designed to be stronger than anything else currently afloat.

And the firepower was exceptional. The ship had sixteen-inch guns, twelve of them in all arrayed in quadruple turrets. It was the first ship in any navy to successfully mount the sixteen-inch guns, the previous attempt by both themselves and the Occitanians never making it past sea trials due to compromised performance.

And now he had it on his side.

It hadn't been without struggle. It was the one ship he wanted completed more than any other, especially given the current situation with the country's supply chain. It had been completed late, as the last crucial supplies to finish her were held up by the emperor's troops. Even its sea trials were massively rushed forward so that she could be ready for service. Behind her were three more of the same class of battleships, designed to completely upend the existing Occitanian dominance of the seas.

All of it was needed to release their main fleet from the blockade. Every successive day that the Javan fleet remained bottled up in Aberdeen was another that prolonged the war needlessly. Even though idiots like the crown prince and his father believed the war could be won on land, Bancroft knew that as long as Javan warships protected the homeland, the Occitanians couldn't take their cities or their people.

It was the quickest way for them to win the war. He just wished that others around him could see that as easily as he did.

Bancroft shook his head. It mattered not today. The last thing he wanted was negative thoughts to spoil his mood like it did so often on other days. In just a week's time, theCharles IX would be operational. He only wished he could attend the commissioning ceremony.

As hard as he tried to maintain his good spirits, it would soon be interrupted. Bancroft didn't realize it, but a presence had appeared behind him in the hall, and it was of the very last person he wanted to see. Normally, Bancroft could track the crown prince by his heavily-labored breathing and rumbling footsteps, however the corpulent man had managed to sneak up on him today. It wasn't until he heard his heavy jowls move that Bancroft sat upright suddenly, shocked by his sudden appearance.

"Well, don't you look like the cat that ate the canary today, Bancroft," said George with a sly grin as he moved around his desk, his breathing needlessly labored. "You look like you just received some good news. Have we won a battle today?"

The admiral resisted the urge to scowl. It was what George would have wanted anyway, so he was content to deny him the satisfaction.

"Not quite, Your Highness, but I have just received excellent news. The new battleship,Charles IX, has recently completed sea trials and is ready for commissioning. I daresay this might change our situation with our own fleet being so bottled up in Aberdeen."

As if Bancroft's respect for George couldn't go any lower, he was still surprised by his astonishingly stupid answer.

"I suppose that's not bad news, but what good to us is another battleship right now?" asked George with a dimwitted expression on his face. "We need fighting men right now. Not ships."

"That's where we have a difference in opinion," said Bancroft. "This is most fortuitous news for our country. If we can break the back of Occitanian sea power, we can swing this war back into our corner."

George shrugged. "An invasion of Occitania will do the same thing. Their army is second rate especially when compared with their navy. All we have to do is land our troops, and we can waltz our way to Montauban."

Bancroft highly doubted anyone would bewaltzing to the enemy capitol. While he couldn't deny that Occitanian troops weren't known for their exceptional abilities, any enemy would fight harder when defending their homeland. It made the prospect of an invasion risky, and furthermore, what were they to do if they took all that ground? It would be harder to defend it against people who may be defeated in arms but not in spirit. It would be a quagmire for their armies, all the while the Ruthenians prepared to strike them while their backs were turned.

No, an invasion was most certainly not the way to go about it. Only destroying their fleet could prevent them any hope of ending a war with Java, rendering any further fighting futile. They could sit and sulk on their islands for all Bancroft cared. As long as his ships protected the shores, he kept Java whole.

And he kept George and his father in power.

"I suppose it's a good thing I never got into the army then," said Bancroft finally, giving a disarming smile to the crown prince. "I don't have half the mind for army affairs such as you do."

The smile that was on George's face dropped at the veiled insult. Bancroft watched the man's nostrils flare, and for a brief moment, the tension between them was thick with hostility.

It was only once that smile reappeared on the crown prince's face that Bancroft realized he hadn't bested the man.

"Well, consider this next assignment a learning activity, Admiral," said George as he leaned his heavy frame against his desk. The desk scooted two inches in the other direction, clearly not made for holding such hefty loads. "Now is your time to learn a bit more about army affairs and how you can be of assistance to them."

Bancroft pursed his lips. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it's time for us to mount that invasion, old boy," said George with a smirk. "We have almost thirty thousand men camped out on the north coast. Two whole divisions. The generals think we can land that force and take over Occitania, and my father agrees with them."

"And how do you suppose to get that many men across the straits without the Occitanians blowing your transport fleet out of the water?" asked Bancroft dryly.

"Why, that'll be your job, Bancroft." George brought both his hands up so they were parallel with his frame. "I need you to ensure that we have a highway to work with. The straits between Java and Occitania are only twenty-five miles at their narrowest. If you can give us protection on either side, we can sail right through and land on their southern coast. I can only imagine the thoughts of their people when they see a Javan army standing on their doorstep." George shuddered with his own form of pleasure, a mostly sickening sight that beckoned Bancroft's breakfast to emerge from his stomach.

"Do you have any idea how many transport ships you'd need to take across two divisions at one time?" asked the admiral, already annoyed. "The biggest ones only carry a thousand fully loaded men. Not to mention, they are slow as all hell. You'd be lucky to make that crossing with half the men in one day."

George nodded. "Which is why we need your protection to get there."

"Not to mention, what about a supply chain? Reinforcements? Those men are going to need a link back to Java that just can't be extinguished by landing them the first time. Not to mention the Occitanians are going to get word and start patrolling that strait once they know we're there. It will make any kind of reinforcement impossible. And that's only if they find out about it late. If word leaks to them, they'll be waiting with their ships as soon as the first transport gets into deep water."

"My my, Bancroft, I didn't take you to be such a pessimist," said George with a subtle tsk-tsk. "I thought you believed in the overwhelming power of Javan arms?"

"I'm also a realist," spat Bancroft. "You're going to land an inadequate force across a contested strait with no hopes for resupply. Do you really want to throw those men's lives away?"

"All the generals agree it's a sound plan," said the crown prince defensively.

Yeah, they said that because they are all sycophants, thought Bancroft.

"It still seems foolish from a naval perspective," said the admiral finally.

"Well, perhaps it will give you a chance to see how the other side truly lives," said George with a broad grin. "You just admitted not five minutes ago that you didn't have much mind for army affairs. Perhaps it's showing right now, Bancroft."

"And exactly how am I supposed to accomplish this task with most of my fleet bottled up in Aberdeen?"

George shrugged. "Be creative, Admiral! I'm sure you'll think of something. Hell, bring your new battleship that just came off the line. I'm sure my father would love to see his namesake floating off the coast and protecting his army as they crossed. Think of how much the press would enjoy seeing that?"

Bancroft could only imagine the horror of the press when Occitanian warships started blasting the transports out of the water. An operation of this size and magnitude never escaped attention, and he was sure that the enemy would find out about it and try to contest the landings. But what did he have to prevent it with? Aside from a handful of small task forces, everything else was in Aberdeen. The new battleship would help, but it would need protection in the form of cruisers and destroyers, and there just weren't that many of them that were not tied up elsewhere at the current moment.

Bancroft was still thinking it over when George started speaking again. "Look at it this way, Admiral. Imagine the glory that the navy will achieve by helping to make this invasion possible. You've been wanting a more expanded role for your forces. Here it is! It will also be your chance to truly strike back at them for their last raid on Belfort that took your own Admiralty building."

"I can appreciate the plan that you've ironed out as well as the intended accolades of its success," said Bancroft curtly. "However, I don't think we are in any position to offer a naval invasion with our current situation."

George's smile melted instantly, only to be replaced by disdain. "I wasn't asking for you to support the invasion, Admiral. I wastelling you. That army is going to cross no matter what, and you will need to be there to support it. That's an order."

Bancroft ground his teeth together. "And when does this little invasion kick off? How long do I have to prepare?"

"You have a month," replied George. "We kick off the invasion on the day that the full moon is due to rise. I'll send more specifics to you later on but know that's how much time you have to work with."

"Fine," answered the admiral. "If that's the case, and I only have four weeks, you'll need to excuse me. I need to start preparing a force that can protect the transports."

"That's the spirit," roared George as he slapped his meaty hand against Bancroft's shoulder. "I knew you were the man for the job. Keep me informed on what you intend to do, and let's talk again real soon."

Bancroft only nodded as George pulled himself off his desk and began to walk away. The admiral had nearly let out a sigh of relief before George turned around. "And Admiral? Don't let me down." The fat man turned to walk away.

Disembowelment or beheading? Perhaps both? Yes, if at all possible, I'll do both to him the day I take power, thought Bancroft as he went back to work. The man sure knew how to spoil his mood.

How the hell was he going to keep an invasion force safe with no firepower?

*****

The Crown Prince of the Javan Empire found himself chuckling as he walked away from the desk of the Admiral Bancroft. He was sure the man was probably still staring daggers through his backside. He knew he shouldn't play with the admiral like this but it just felt too good not to.

Peevish Percy Bancroft thinks he's too good for the rest of us, thought George.If I'm the only one willing to bring him down a level or two, so be it!

Frankly, George was tired of the amount of clout that Bancroft held in the country's government. His father had an unhealthy degree of respect for the man that George just didn't understand. He'd always found Bancroft to be stuffy and pessimistic, capable of only looking at naval matters and not the big picture. But it was of no matter now. In a matter of weeks, their invasion force would be on the Occitanian shore, and their capitol city would come under siege.

George only wished he could be the one leading the troops in their final charge as they slaughtered those Occitanian bastards. He'd even brought up the discussion to the generals. Of course, they'd politely declined, and George knew the reason why. He slapped his fat stomach several times and chuckled. He'd make a hell of a target for any sniper on the field, and the death of the crown prince would be a terrible headline to read about in the press.

Even still, he looked forward to the eventual victory parade, both through Montauban and Belfort once the war had finished. Perhaps he'd even make sure that Bancroft had a position of honor, that is, as long as the man still had his head by the time the treaty was signed.

George retired to his own personal quarters a few minutes later. He had nearly an entire wing of the palace to himself, save for the temporary Admiralty quarters in the grand hall. However, it did mean that, for just one man, he had almost fifty rooms to himself. Not bad considering there were some he hadn't been inside for years.

Moving inside his own quarters, George came upon his own office and sat down. His chair was heavily-reinforced at the joints, a necessary precaution after the first time one snapped out from under him, but it was easily one of the most comfortable places to sit inside the entire palace. In front of him was his desk, filled with all kinds of messages, dispatches, orders, and bills. The only ones that he really looked at were those that originated with the army. He usually read those fully, but as for the rest of them, he couldn't be bothered with the other matters of state.

Even though his father had tried to mold him into being the next Emperor of Java, with all the responsibilities that it came with, George was content to enjoy life at his own pace. Being crown prince meant all the pleasures of royalty with none of the obligations. Sure, he had to attend most of the functions and obligations, and occasionally he had to make state visits during times of peace, but for the most part, he kept to himself and his . . . pleasures.

George looked around the room, and seeing not one of the servants around him, he decided to ring the little bell on his desk. Its chiming echoed through the empty chambers until not a moment later, one of the servant girls came running to attend to him.

"Your Highness, how can I help you?" she asked, bowing deeply in front of him.

George grinned lecherously. Amelia was one of his favorite girls. The only reason she worked at the palace was for her appearance. Dark, curly hair and big, green eyes, the girl was such a sexy little thing that she set his blood on fire just by being near him. She also was so damn top heavy that George had to wonder how she managed to walk upright—at least without having massive amounts of back pain. Not any older than twenty, Amelia made a fine addition to his own personal staff.

"Is it only you here today? Or anyone else?" asked George, gesturing around the corners.

Amelia bit her lip defensively. "No, Judd is here as well today."

"Get him. Quickly. Then come back here," ordered George.

She left only reluctantly, no doubt knowing what was to come. It was a scene he greatly enjoyed when it was acted out in front of him, and the lording of power over Bancroft had made him eager for their particular talents.

The one called Judd appeared a moment later. He had a shaved head, with only prickly remains left upon his scalp. A tall lad, he was noticeably thick in the back and chest as well. He was around the same age as the girl, a glowing reminder of his youth and virility. He'd do nicely.

"Good. Take off your clothes. Both of you," ordered George.

The two servants looked at each other before obeying his order. They both wore a simple servant's gown, easy to take off, and they fell to floor to reveal their nude bodies in a matter of seconds. George felt the first signs of life in his cock at seeing the girl's impressive tits, but also at the other servant's cock, which was showing the first signs of life.

Apparently, Judd was already noticing Amelia as well. He stole frequent glances at her body, no doubt knowing what would be coming next.

"Bend over my desk," George instructed the girl. "You, get behind her."

The girl nodded uneasily and laid down against his ornate workstation. The other servant grabbed his cock, preparing to enter her from behind. George nearly shivered at the anticipation of their coupling. But he needed to do one more thing first.

"Wait just a second." George spit into his hand and reached behind the girl. He used the opportunity to coat her pliant hole with his saliva, getting her ready to take the cock hovering just inches away from her ass. Once he was satisfied with the result, he nodded back to the man. "Begin."

George let out a low hiss as their genitals joined, and the girl let out a pathetic mewl. Finding his hand slipping into his robes, he watched as their hips began to thrust together in wild fashion.

This was true entertainment.

This was his reward for being the Crown Prince of Java.

His robes started to move faster.

*****

It had been nine days at sea after leaving Andalucia when Jack was told that the task force should arrive off the coast of Kat's island home in Picardy. It had been an uneventful trip so far, much the opposite of the first time they set out for Picardy, and he'd been content to enjoy the sight of open ocean and nothing else.

Being back on theDestiny was a little weird for him at first. He'd spent so much time in Andalucia, and had been so close to death at times, that he wondered if he'd ever step foot on the mighty cruiser again. Yet, once she was fully underway upon leaving Methusa, Jack moved to the bow of the ship and smiled. He felt the soft mist of the ocean cover his face while the wind brushed through his hair. It was a feeling he'd long since missed—the joy of being one with the water.

It also reminded him how cramped the ship was once again now that they had two full battalions on board. Many of them were new faces still too, men that Jack hadn't met or seen only once in passing. Every once in a while, he'd still see the faces of the veterans—those few remaining cadres of marines that had been with him since the mission started. Their ranks were a lot thinner these days, and they'd truly survived hell together. Jack just hoped that he could get the rest of them back home without losing any more brothers.

With the threat of further hostilities on the horizon with the Swabians, it was a hope he didn't think would come to pass.

At the current moment, he could be found at the desk in his own quarters, catching up on the small mountain of paperwork that had been left for him while he was in Andalucia. Abigail was on the bridge commanding the ship, while Kat was still in his bed, writing something in that journal of hers. She did that often enough to catch his attention, although he never knew for sure what else was in it beyond the prophecy that she loved to reference. Fear of finding out further details always stopped him from pursuing the subject.

At this particular moment though, she had a troubled look on her face. Her eyebrows were drawn tight together and her lips were pursed tightly. He knew her well enough by now to know that something was bothering her.