Fourth Vector Ch. 24

"So the Javans have finally done it," muttered Krupin, taking a long puff of his cigar. "It was only a matter of time anyway. We knew the Occitanian's chance of lasting long term in a war against them was pretty thin."

"Give it a good show of it, they did," said Popov with a shrug. "No one expected it to be this long. I have intel of a buildup of Javan army forces on the northern coast. It appears a second invasion is being planned."

"May it meet with the same luck as the first one," replied Krupin sullenly. He knew that outcome was unlikely. With control of the seas, there was nothing to contest the next Javan landing.

It would appear the war would be over soon if that was the case. And Javan dominance of Occitania would begin in earnest.

Java. How Krupin detested the country and its people. His left knee still ached as a result of a Javan bomb that destroyed the house next to his during the Desert War. To this day, he still walked with a noticeable limp because of it, all because those gung-ho would-be conquerors had to destroy the pride of Ruthenia during that war. How many of their young and capable men met early graves, charging into Javan lines in the desert and mountainous areas of the country?

Far too many.

Although some time had passed since that last war, ill feelings still consumed the Ruthenian soul. Humiliation at the hands of their adversaries cast many of them to notions of revenge. There wasn't a single party that didn't root for the Occitanians to humiliate their southern neighbor during this most recent war, which was especially potent considering that many of them didn't see the Occitanians as being any better.

"What are your instructions, sir?" asked Popov, who remained sitting in his chair and watching him with curiosity.

"This puts all of us in a bad place," answered Krupin. "I've been on His Majesty to intervene in this war since the beginning, especially while the Occitanians still had the upper hand. It was the only way we could end Javan dominance once and for all—an attack from both the northand the south. And now the initiative has nearly been lost! If the war ends, we'll have lost our chance."

"The Occitanians may still put up a good fight still, sir," argued Popov. "Our reports detail a large concentration of troops on the southern shore to contest the landing. They were lucky the first Javan invasion was destroyed as it gave them more time to prepare the defense. If the Javans think they can just land on the coast and march to the capital without contest, they'll be surely disappointed."

"How sure are you on this, Popov? I need every troop disposition, movement, and report you can get your hands on. I need to know if they can seriously contest a Javan landing and for how long."

For the next two hours, Popov gathered every single piece of intelligence that had ever been sent to his office from Occitania. Through it all, Krupin received a thorough debriefing on the status of the Occitanian army, its defensive preparations, and its overall numbers. When looking at the status of the Javan buildup, Krupin had reason to smile at the end of it.

"It may still be possible," said Krupin quietly. "We've never seen this level of buildup from the Occitanians before. They just might be able to resist long enough for us to strike the Javans from behind."

"There's going to be a narrow window of opportunity here," replied Popov. "Our margin of victory will remain highest if we can strike at them before they land the next invasion force. Once it's on Occitanian soil, their time might already be numbered. Speed will be crucial."

Krupin nodded as he made furious notes in a folder next to his cigar tray. If he was going to take this to the emperor, he had to be sure. His reputation was on the line if they got this wrong, and there was already little room for error. Even still, it could be the only way to ensure long-term Ruthenian independence. For if the Occitanians fell for good, the Javans would come for them next. It was a near guarantee.

Krupin went through several last minute questions with Popov before he felt comfortable enough for an audience with the emperor. Despite it being late in the evening, he knew that Emperor Pavel Rostov would still be awake at this hour. The man was young, frequently spending half the night out of bed before retiring in the early morning hours. He also knew he was likely to be unencumbered at this time too, having many meetings with the emperor in the twilight hours of the day.

Unfortunately, the foreign ministry was about ten blocks away from the imperial palace, meaning Krupin had to walk quickly along the darkened streets of Merv, the capital city. He covered the ground in a record pace, presenting himself to the palace guard shortly after ten o'clock. He was shown inside, going past the main reception hall toward one of the many dining rooms. He found the emperor eating a late night meal of grilled venison, a favorite treat of his.

Emperor Pavel Rostov wasn't a long occupant of the throne. He'd only been the ruler of the country since his father passed away a few years previously. His father had overseen the disastrous outcome of the Desert War, a crushing ending to an otherwise outstanding reign. The result slowly made him lose his mind, and he was dead within a year of the war's ending despite the fact that he'd been a relatively healthy sixty-year-old man at the beginning.

His heir apparent Pavel was a man that was bred to be a leader. From a young age, he had the finest tutors, the best lessons, and the proper mindset drilled into him from the start. Nothing was neglected in his education—from mastery of war to the intricacies of fine arts, young Pavel could truly be called a polymath in the rawest sense of the word.

The only thing he lacked was experience, something that couldn't be learned in the classroom. Despite being as well-educated as one could get, Pavel was truly at the mercy of his court once his father died. He was well-meaning but naive, intelligent but green, and he lacked the true mastery of the court that his father dominated.

For that reason, Krupin found that his counsel was relied on much more than what would commonly be expected. And for the placing of that trust, the stakes were higher as well. Losing the trust of the young emperor was something that could spell disaster, especially when he placed his full confidence on their shoulders to guide him along the narrow path.

"Ah, Krupin, come in, come in," said the emperor as he pushed away his half-eaten plate of venison. "What could bring you in at this hour? Unless you'd like to enjoy this meal with me?"

"I'll pass on that, Your Majesty," replied Krupin with the perfunctory courtesy. "I had hoped to talk to you tonight about a certain proposal if you would have the time. Of course, if you don't, we can schedule another meeting—"

"Nonsense, have a seat," said Pavel as he patted the chair next to him. "What's on your mind, Krupin? Anything going on that I need to know about?"

"Yes, there's a great deal, Your Majesty," said Krupin as he set his carefully-maintained file in front of him. For the next thirty minutes, Krupin explained the threat the Javans posed now that the Occitanian blockade had been broken. In no uncertain terms, he relayed what it would mean if the Javans invaded Occitanian again, this time with success while taking over the whole of the country. A united empire that occupied the two main continents of the eastern world, it would only be a matter of time before Ruthenia slipped into the crosshairs.

"I see the point that you're trying to make, Krupin," said the emperor while observing his minister's notes. "It's one we've had many times before, but if the Javans have tipped the scales in their favor, why should we go to warnow? Haven't we missed the boat? Wouldn't this just prolong the inevitable Javan victory?"

Krupin shook his head. "I believe we have a small window of opportunity here, but it is very small, Your Majesty. That window extinguishes with a successful landing of Javan troops on Occitanian soil. We can now join the war on their side and stab the Javans in their unprotected flank when they're least expecting it."

"You want to turn your cold war hot, I take it?" asked Rostov with a raised eyebrow.

"Precisely," answered Krupin. A cold war was a good way to put the operations that he'd been conducting in secret against the Javans. On his own, he'd managed to set about his own commerce raiders to sink Javan fishing boats that strayed too far from territorial waters. They made sneak attacks against unguarded convoys and any small warships when they could get their hands on them. Most importantly, Krupin had funneled money to several dissident factions of the Tyrolean leadership, causing them to rebel against Javan authority as another way to weaken the dragon before war was declared.

Alas, all of these measures were merely poking the bear. Krupin needed something drastic. The time for raiding and fighting in the shadows was over.

"You've come to me before with plans for entry into their war, and I've denied them, telling you the time was not right," said Rostov, after hearing of the larger plan for the better part of an hour. "Yet the intelligence you've gathered seems to point out that we can win if we move quickly. I'm going to ask you a serious question now, Krupin, and I want a serious answer. Do you truly believe we can win?"

Krupin showed no hesitation, recognizing the question for the trick that it was. "We can win, Your Majesty. If we strike now with the full force of our navy, we can achieve local superiority against the Javans on the high sea. We can buy time for the Occitanians by allying with them. Most importantly, we can send our army to Tyrol, joining forces with the rebels and defeating the Javans on land. If we move fast enough, we can erase the stigma of the Desert War for good."

Rostov flinched as soon as Krupin mentioned the Desert War. He always carried the shame with him, knowing the conflict was one of the reasons his father was put into an early grave. If there was anything so likely to motivate the young emperor, the chance to revenge his father was the most likely choice.

"You've assembled a compelling argument here, Krupin," said the emperor finally. "I'm inclined to see things your way."

"If that's the case, will you let me take this to theVort?" pressed Krupin. "Will you allow them to vote on the measure?'

TheVort was the assembled body of the nobility of Ruthenia. It was made up of over one hundred lords across the entire continent, having the final say on all matters of state in the empire. In theory, theVort ruled Ruthenia, with the emperor being only the first amongst equals in their ranks. In reality, theVort was a powerless body, only serving to rubber stamp decrees that the emperor had already approved. A long time ago, theVort had truly been the real power in Ruthenia, but a successive wave of strong emperors and crises had stripped away its powers, rendering it the impotent body it was today.

Taking something to theVort was now seen as a way to gain official approval before any new law, war, or venture. It meant already having the emperor's approval, which was what Krupin desperately sought right now.

The emperor regarded him carefully before responding. "I will verify your numbers with the members of my war council. If I find suitable preparation on their parts, then you may address theVort in three days' time. If I find any reason why we shouldn't go to war, then I will have an answer to you before you have the chance to appear in front of them."

"That will be just fine, Your Majesty," said Krupin with a bowed head, unable to hold the smile from his lips. "I will respect your decision."

The two men talked for about twenty more minutes about a lesser matter regarding a vacant lordship in the south of the country before Krupin made his way back to the foreign ministry. In the morning, he would begin to draft his speech for his appearance in front of theVort, knowing a declaration of war would go down in history. He fully intended to have the right words for the occasion, and already he was thinking about how to phrase it to rouse the patriotic furor of his countrymen.

That evening, Krupin went to bed with a smile on his face, confident that he'd regained a measure of enjoyment for the celebration of his birthday.

*****

"The dastardly Javan villain looms large on the international stage, used to throwing their weight around and bullying their neighbors with no retribution. To that, I say NO MORE!"

Krupin paused for a moment as he heard a small chattering of applause from theVort. It was the third day since his meeting with the emperor, and no one had appeared to call off his appearance in front of the deliberating body. As he rose to the platform to formally ask for a declaration of war, Krupin felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"Let us not forget our earlier humiliation at the hands of the Javans. I'm talking, of course, about the Desert War of yesteryear. Are we just to forget the scores of our own dead, their bones forever barren in the sands of western Ruthenia? Or will we honor their memories and exhort the Ruthenian spirit toward their vengeance?"

The claps and yells from the assembled nobles got louder that time. It wasn't many of them that didn't have a son, grandson, nephew, or cousin that didn't perish in that war.

"Our time is now, honored fathers of the Ruthenian nation! We will come to the aid of our Occitanian allies and together, we will strike down the Javan dragon for all time! No more will be paupers in our own country! Never again will be treated as a lesser people by an omnipotent and imperial power such as Java. We will reclaim our own destiny! We will tip the scales back in our favor! I ask all of you to vote yes for the war with Java! Let us finally have our revenge!"

There wasn't a noble that remained seated, all of them springing to their feet with applause. For that five minutes after his speech, Krupin heard nothing but the clapping of hands and the stamping of feet. He beamed wide with a smile, knowing his opportunity had finally arrived.

The war was on.

*****

"That man insults my intelligence!" roared Emperor Aurelius, making his courier and servants tremor with anxiety and fear. "Am I to truly believe that he is winding the war down in Picardy? His forces are about to conquer the entire country!"

Aurelius was fuming. Yet again, Regaulfus Avila was trying to skirt his authority, blatantly escalating his conflict on Picardy in spite of Aurelius telling him to withdraw. Now he was finding out that Avila told his courier that he intended to withdraw—after a small armada of ships could be seen ferrying troops and equipment to Picardy in testament to the bold-faced lie that it was.

The courier stammered, obviously about to have a breakdown. "B-but his message said that he's—"

"I don't give two flying fucks what the message says," snapped Aurelius as he whipped the imperial crown across the room, smacking into the nearby stone wall with an audibleclang. "I know what he's doing and it most certainly involves those two nitwits in Lindau and Selz!"

It was only this past week that Aurelius got word of a meeting in Cormfeld between that old fool Godric Katla of Selz and the young twerp Clovis Helmut of Lindau. Even though he didn't have details of what the meeting was about, he definitely suspected the true purpose. Godric was an old battle-axe who'd always been hard to work with during his long reign. Clovis was indescribably weak and needed protection from a stronger lord. Both of them had much to gain by throwing their support to Avila, and he didn't doubt that was the main cause of their gathering.

The courier didn't know how to respond to that last statement, wisely choosing to remain silent while the emperor fumed.

"I want you to put a call out," said the emperor finally, gaining a measure of composure as he spoke more calmly. "Have the lords gather their forces on the main island for what will be called army exercises."

"Exercises, sire?" squeaked the courier.

Aurelius nodded. If Avila was going to show his hand to him, then he would need to do the same. With the errant lord giving face-saving measures to undermine him, Aurelius would have to take similar, secretive actions.

"All lords will be required to send a component of their armed forces for the exercises," replied Aurelius. "Those lords that do not will be considered in revolt and will be dealt with severely."

That should do nicely to expose Avila's plans, thought Aurelius.He won't send his own troops to me, especially if he regards me as his potential enemy. And if he's stupid enough to do it, I can use his own men to crush him.

"How severely, sire?" asked the courier, struggling to write the notes down quickly.

"Just leave it at that and let their imagination do the rest," said Aurelius flatly. "I also want you to send word to some of my more supportive lords. Those that would have the most to lose in the event of my replacement on the throne. I want to create a clear division between the forces that would gather under Avila and those that would support my imperial house."

"How exactly do you want me to do that, sire?" asked the courier.

Aurelius spent the next five minutes issuing instructions before he sent the courier on his way, the man all too willing to get out of his sight as quickly as possible, leaving the emperor alone in his throne room.

Surprisingly enough, he found himself in a pensive mood once he was alone. As enraged as he was about Avila's machinations, he knew it was coming. It had been only a matter of time before someone with his ambition would threaten Aurelius' rule over the country, and now that events were guiding themselves to their inevitable conclusion, he was almost happy to get it over with. Despite Avila's seemingly formidable position, Aurelius had to conclude that most of his army was in Picardy, and thus, not able to strike out if he moved quickly enough.

The only part that gave him pause was the army of old Godric Katla of Selz. The man was known for having the strongest force in Swabia, easily a match for any other lord on a one-to-one showing. But this upcoming conflict wouldn't be one-to-one. Aurelius would mold the entire might of the Swabian Empire into one hammer and bring it crashing down on all three of their heads.

It would only be a matter of time until his throne was secure and he was finally rid of Regaulfus Avila for good.

*****

The day before Jack was due to depart for Belfort, he was making his way through the naval headquarters. It had been nearly three weeks since the battle, and this morning the emperor would finally be leaving to go back to the capital city. Going with him were Jocelyn and Blake, having originally taken the emperor's train to Aberdeen. Jack would see them off in a short while, but now, he wanted to check in with one of his commanders.

He found the right room finally, seeing a familiar face look up from his desk right away.

"Jack, what are you up to this morning?" asked Pete Dawson, formerly of theHorton, which was still resting on the bottom of Aberdeen Bay. Pete stood up from his desk and closed the distance between them but his normal shake of the hand was missing. That was because his arm was still encased in the cast.

Pete had gotten lucky when the ship went down to only suffer from a concussion, a gut wound, and a broken arm. Like the rest of the survivors of theHorton, they'd clung to whatever scrap metal they could get their hands on, bobbing around in the bay until a rescue could be mounted. Jack was thankful that Pete wasn't one of the many casualties from that day, already having suffered enough with the loss of Vicky and Anna.