Fourth Vector Ch. 23

Calling it a ship was a bit of a stretch. It was more like a yacht more than anything, even if it was a rather large yacht indeed. Once the jewel of his father's eye, theTreasure was clearly showing her age at this point. Streaks of rust appeared alongside her hull, in desperate need of a proper cleaning and a new paint job. Her heyday was long ago, back when Will was just learning to walk, and her neglect in recent years clearly showed in just about every aspect. Yet, it was still a source of pride for his father, and the fact that he'd been given it for this mission was very telling.

As was the fact that it was him going at all. For twenty-five year old Will, something of this magnitude would usually be delegated to his father. But like his treasured yacht, Bill Calland had also grown old with the years, and the prospect of an extended sea journey to a war zone was not in the cards for the older man.

Even when the stakes were this high.

"Come on now," encouraged Will to the dockworkers as they loaded the supplies on the yacht. "We need to be off by dawn."

They moved with a vigorous pace, as quickly as they could move loaded down with crates of supplies to help them survive the journey. Even with how large theTreasure was, she was already overloaded with supplies and food for over a hundred men, not quite enough to survive the two week trip across the ocean to Picardy. If Will was being quite honest with himself, the food on board would ensure meager rations during the trip, making the possibility of them stopping to reload a near certainty.

Maybe Apulia, he thought to himself as he went through the options.It's just about the only country on the way where we would receive a decent welcome.

Will didn't dare consider Swabia, knowing that Galicians were forbidden from entering the country. Apart from that fact, there was also the rationale that it was the Swabians' actions in Picardy that made this whole trip necessary. He couldn't count on a warm reception there.

Will was driven out of his thoughts by one of the dockworkers losing their grip on the chest of supplies he was bringing aboard. The dockworker swore as it hit the deck with a loud thud, the handle having jiggered off from being too loose.

"Hang on, I'll help you," said Will, grabbing one of the ends and helping the two men load it on the yacht. The men were grateful for the aid, and Will was happy to do it as well, as long as it kept them on schedule.

With the last of the supplies being loaded, they were just waiting on one thing. Or rather, close to a hundred "living" things. Will wasn't surprised to see them arriving just on time, a full company of his father's soldiers moving with slack discipline toward the docks. All of them were dressed normally, without their fatigues, as per Will's request. He knew that word of soldiers departing on a pleasure yacht would inevitably make its way back to the regent, which would spark more questions than needed.

For that reason, Will had them store their weapons and gear in crates, coming aboard looking like civilians instead of soldiers. Even though it was still likely to draw the ire of Eric Rosdahl, at least it wouldn't be as alarming as seeing they were actually soldiers.

"A Company, 2nd Regiment, reporting for duty," said the clear crisp voice of Captain Travis Axel, the leader of the men standing behind him. Travis was a soldier's soldier—brave, daring, and most importantly, he looked the part. That was perhaps why the most jarring thing about the morning so far was seeing Travis without his uniform. Even still, he was the type of soldier that wasn't lessened by what he was wearing, and his cool confidence shined on without it.

"Right on time, Captain," said Will with a beaming grin. "All of your weapons are aboard and ready for your men. I'm afraid your quarters are going to be very tight for a few weeks, at least until we get to Picardy."

"I don't think the men will mind too much. I think half of them are still excited to be heading toward an actual war zone than anything," said Travis with a chuckle.

"Food will be tight for the first week as well," cautioned Will. "We'll have to make sure our rationing lasts us until we can get resupplied. I'm thinking Apulia."

"Apulia will work," answered Travis. "The men will be fine though. I'll make sure no one starts digging through the stores for snacks." Travis looked back at his men, the look of utter confidence in his words. Will didn't doubt that Travis was the kind of leader who could simply make a request and have his men follow it to the letter.

"Great, well Captain, welcome aboard theTreasure," said Will finally, stepping aside so the men could start their boarding. Thankfully, they were able to step on relatively quickly, seeing as their gear was already loaded inside. Just as the sun was about to crest the horizon, Will let out a content grin. They would be off shortly and the regent would be none the wiser.

He should've known he wouldn't have been able to depart that easily.

"Will Calland, you stop this instant!"

Will winced at the sound of the familiar voice. He pivoted on his foot quickly, turning to face the newcomer with a look of embarrassment and a sense of dread. He scarcely needed to have looked, knowing who the voice belonged to instantly, but part of him had to verify with his eyes to make sure she was really standing there.

That she was Lindsay Kolbeck, and she was his girlfriend. The second daughter of a minor house of Galician lords, Lindsay was as stunning as she was sharp. Like all Galicians, her wavy blonde hair, which hung nearly to her shoulders, and her bright blue eyes were part of her allure. Lindsay was tall for a woman, nearly five foot ten, just a few inches short of Will. Being of the nobility, she was used to getting her way, and the look on her face was anything but pleased.

"Just where do you think you're going?" she said with an accusatory tone as she stepped right up to his face. Being pulled along in her free hand was a small suitcase, and Will already knew what she was trying to do.

He sighed. "Lindsay, I'm sorry, but you can't go with me."

"You think you can just write me a letter and disappear without saying goodbye?" she asked, jamming her finger in his chest. "You owe me more than that, Will Calland! For the gods' sake, we've been seeing each other for two years, and you can't manage a proper goodbye to my face?"

Admittedly, leaving the letter wasn't the best choice but there wasn't a good one as far as Lindsay was concerned, and he knew she was bound to take any method badly. The alternative was telling her in person, and having her insist upon coming. One place he didn't want to take her was a war zone, and despite his overall happiness with the status of their relationship, his protective instincts won out in the end.

"You know where we're going, Linds," started Will before she interrupted him again with her legendary fiery temper.

"I don't care. So what, it's just Picardy," she replied, as if it were they were just going to another Galician island for vacation. "Besides, you have a bunch of soldiers onboard for protection, right?"

"Right, but that's besides the point."

"No, it's not, Will," she said, softening her tone. "I know you're going somewhere dangerous, even if you won't tell me what the point of this 'secret mission' is."

"I can't tell you," he said. "If you knew, it would put you into danger."

"If I stay here in Galicia," she argued. "Not if I come with you instead."

"It's too dangerous, you know that."

"I don't care, Will." Lindsay crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I'm coming with you whether you like it or not, so you might as well save your arguments."

"Just think about it for a second," he said, softening his tone as well. "Picardy is swarming with Swabians. It's a two week journey just until we get there, and you know that if we encounter any Swabians, it might not go well for us. At the end of the day, we're just a small band of soldiers, we can't hold off an army or even the Swabian navy if they interfere with us."

"I know the danger, Will," she said quietly, her eyes persistent. "But I can think of no safer place to be than with you. I know you'll keep me safe. You always do."

His will was already weakening. Lindsay knew how to get to him. All she had to do was soften her eyes and her tone and invade his personal space, and he'd give her just about anything she wanted. To her credit, she never used it nefariously. It's part of the reason why they'd lasted so long, with plans to eventually marry on the horizon. He reallyliked the part of her that was fiery and somewhat unpredictable, even if the desire to keep her safe at home overwhelmed much of his usual sensibilities.

"I don't want to be separated from you, Will," she said again quietly when he didn't respond. "You could be gone for months or years, who knows. I couldn't do that. You know I love you."

"And I love you," he conceded.

Lindsay let out a little smile, knowing victory was near. "I won't even take up that much space. I just have this little bag." She jiggled her suitcase. "And I don't need a bed either." She winked at him, knowing full well where she would be sleeping.

"You know this is risky, right?" he asked one more time. "I can't promise what happens once we leave Galicia."

Lindsay's expression turned serious. "Can anyone promise what will happeninside Galicia? The same kind of bullshit your father rails against all the time. There are problems going on in the outside world, Will. I'm guessing you're going out there to be part of the solution. If that's the case, I can think of no better place to be than by your side."

Will found himself nodding finally, his will to fight broken. Lindsay let out a triumphant smile and rushed into his arms, kissing him over and over.

"Get onboard before I change my mind," he said.

She scampered aboard quickly just as the first rays of sunlight started to illuminate the harbor at Kalmar. Once inside, Travis fixed him with a curious look as soon as he saw Lindsay, but he didn't offer any words out loud.

"Don't even ask," said Will quietly.

Travis fought to hold a straight face. "I wouldn't dream of it."

A short while later, theTreasure's engine roared to life and the pleasure yacht soon left the harbor moving for the open sea. As Will grasped the controls and steered the vessel into the sun, he looked back at Galicia behind him. He wondered when he would see the country again, or the faces of his parents. With a determined turn, he looked back out to the horizon.

To Picardy, he thought.And to finding Katherine Rosdahl.

*****

The sound of groaning and screams filled the air, a symphony of agony as Magda walked the remains of the battlefield. It was the day after the fight with the Picards, and already they could be seen running back to Burwick with their tails between their legs. She let out a satisfied smile as another Picard soldier let out a yell, finding the scream to be almost arousing in its quality.

As she moved along the battlefield, she came across another wounded Picard soldier trying to hide in a low ditch. She could see him clutching at his leg, pain written into every contour of his face as his hands and uniform remained covered in his own blood.

"Don't forget this one," said Magda to the cleanup detail behind her. "Even better is that he's still alive."

"We're on it, ma'am," answered the Swabian behind her. Suddenly, two soldiers bent down to grab the man by the armpits, hoisting him up and dragging him away.

The Picard began to scream. "No, no, no! Take your hands off me! Leave me to die, please!"

As much as he pleaded, he only wasted what little breaths he had left. Magda put it out of her mind as she came along one of the broken down armored vehicles that still littered the battlefield. This particular one had been taken out by the airplanes of the Picards, dropping bombs from the sky which had disabled the engine and stopped it in its tracks.

Their engineers were trying to get the engine repaired again so it could be used with the others on the pursuit northward, and Magda stopped to listen to the progress.

"I'm telling you, there's no way we'll get this tank moving again without getting it to one of my shops back in Zarah," said one of the engineers, arguing with his counterpart. "The entire chassis was ruptured by that bomb. I can't fix that in the field with my limited tools."

"If you can't fix it here, you're the one that's going to have to face the music from the leader of the army," said the other engineer, now aware of Magda's presence. He gestured his head, and the first engineer caught her attention.

"Apologies, ma'am," he stammered. "I need to take this one back to Zarah. There's just no fixing it in the field."

"Quite all right," she answered quickly. "I know of two others that need the same treatment. I'm sure the rest of the force will be able to handle their duties while these get fixed."

"Thank you, ma'am, we'll have these tanks fixed up quickly," he said, before walking away back to the main camp.

"Wait just a second," she called, halting him in his tracks. He turned to face her as his face paled.

"One question I have for you. Why do you call them tanks? Seems like a rather inglorious name for the invention that won the battle for us, no?"

The engineer nodded his head. "I happen to agree with you. TANK was the name of the project back in Cormfeld. We never got around to giving them any other name, so tank was what stuck." He then shrugged. "We just never thought to change it."

Magda grabbed the steel side of the tank and then nodded. "Interesting," she muttered before turning back to him. "You're dismissed."

He scampered off in a hurry, no doubt thankful that she didn't find some cause to make trouble for. She turned her attention back to the tank. The majority of her tank force was now pushing north with the rest of her army. Their worth in battle had been questioned by several yesterday before the battle, but afterwards, there wasn't anyone who dared offer any criticism.

They'd done all that they'd been asked to do and more. In using the tanks, the Swabians had finally found a weapon the Picards couldn't counter.

Once again, victory in Picardy was on the horizon, and the tank was going to lead the charge all the way back to Daban.

Magda turned back to the field of battle, now dominated by close to a thousand sharpened stakes that were driven into the ground. They were sharpened to a point on the end that stuck into the air, and each of the remaining casualties of the Picard army were placed on top of the stake, impaling them slowly as the force of gravity forced their bodies lower onto the stakes. It was an agonizing way to die, especially for those that were already wounded, and their distraught screams could be heard echoing all the way back to camp.

It was the same treatment that earned her the nickname of the Butcher of Blenheim. Now it was time for the Picards to learn why she was so feared.

The Battle for Picardy was on again.

*****

In the opulent and gilded palace in Belfort, Emperor Charles IX paced around his study as he listened to the radio chatter come in from the Battle of Aberdeen. His feet were starting to ache, the result of carrying his heavy frame around the room several hundred times, but he found it was all he could do to keep the nervousness of the day at bay.

My entire fucking navy is out there fighting, he thought to himself.I've the right to be nervous.

He glanced over at Mortimus who was still working on official correspondence like he normally did. The man's head was down as he worked diligently, with no other thought in his empty head other than finding the next word to place on the paper. Charles almost envied the man for having no reason to be stressed. If the navy failed today, the effects of the matter would hardly affect Mortimus.

Such a simple life it must be to be a servant, thought Charles.To never have to worry about the big questions in life or the results of your gambles.

Charles' attention was snapped back to the present as another Occitanian battleship was confirmed sunk, this one the work of Commodore Easterbrook and his task force. So far, the hardy commodore had punched significantly above his class, his tiny force being responsible for several of the Occitanian kills that day. Charles couldn't have been more pleased. He expected the fleets to do the majority of the work. After all, hadn't Easterbrook been nothing more than bait to thread the trap?

As the day dragged on and the results piled in, it became increasingly obvious that the Javans had won the battle. The Occitanians were in full retreat out of the bay, no doubt heading back to their main naval base in Chambery to lick their wounds.

It was late in the afternoon when his son appeared in the room, his pudgy face full of question as he tuned himself into the radio chatter. "Father, what's been happening?"

"A great victory, son," answered Charles. "It appears that things are going our way once more."

To his surprise, George's expression didn't change. Charles even thought he detected a hint of trouble in the contours of his face. The corpulent crown prince found the nearest chair and dropped himself into it. "What about casualties? How are we looking?"

"A pair of battleships so far," said Charles instantly. "A few more cruisers. Nothing that can't be replaced."

George's eyes went wide. "We lost two battleships so far and you consider this a victory?"

Charles scoffed. "The Occitanians have lost ten throughout the day, so yes, I do."

"Ten battleships?" George shook his head like he could scarcely believe the news. "Who is responsible for inflicting such carnage?"

"There've been a few standouts already," said Charles. "Most notably, Commodore Easterbrook's name has been coming up as one of the stars of the day."

George made a face. "Isn't that the man that Bancroft likes so damn much?"

"Apparently so, and for good reason. He can fight."

George said nothing else to that, and they both listened for another hour as nightfall began to descend on Aberdeen. When the chatter finally died down, Charles wasn't surprised to hear Admiral Bancroft radio over on their private frequency.

"Your Imperial Majesty," greeted Bancroft humbly across the garbled channel. "I bring tidings of a great victory from your navy. The Occitanian threat to Aberdeen has been removed, and their forces are on a full retreat back to their homeland."

Charles picked up the radio. "Excellent work, Bancroft. Have the casualty figures changed since the last briefing?"

"Not in terms of ships, sire," answered Bancroft. "However, we are still processing the dead and wounded. There is a great deal, especially amongst the two bait forces."

"Make sure they receive excellent care," ordered Charles. "Have the two fleets under McKenzie and Kuntz continue the pursuit. Let Reynolds and Easterbrook rest their forces."

"I have already ordered both Reynolds and Easterbrook to come back into Aberdeen," said Bancroft. "However, Kuntz's fleet is now under the temporary command of one of his subordinates. The man was wounded grievously late in the afternoon, and we don't think he'll live out the night."

"A pity then," said Charles. "I know he was a good officer. He is sure to die then?"

"I'm afraid so. There was an explosion against the bridge of his command ship. That explosion filled his stomach with shrapnel. I doubt he'll live much longer."

"Make sure you get another admiral in his place as soon as possible," said Charles.