Within a maze of steel, the cold of the rain, and the heat of barrage, rested a floating fortress perpendicular to the remainder of her fleet. She had a mass so great that it seemed to produce detectable gravity creating tides stronger than the moon’s with a coat of armor that shone without camouflage as if she was unafraid of being found. The ship boasted eight main guns, a dozen secondary turrets, and scores more close-range artillery accompanied by a crew of two thousand in constant movement like a busying city that was three hundred paces long, weighing ninety thousand tonnes of pure weaponry. But as intimidating as she appeared, her turrets had not been engaged in combat like the rest of her comrades and one would wonder what was happening within her mind that stayed her from firing. In the bridge that was as luxuriously decorated as a lounge of an upper-class estate would be, the vastness of the chamber was not typical for a battleship, not even a flagship, as it extended far into the tower, yet given its excessive appearance, it was manned by a small accompaniment. There was an officer of the watch, a navigator, a pilot, and a captain, however, on that day, the bridge was livelier than usual. Five flag admirals and two color admirals stood in the rear, gathered for conversation as no one had called for their attention since they had arrived. Some lounged on couches and others stood around, served drinks and snacks by a company of young serfs who had known nothing but servitude for their entire lives. Whilst his junior admirals partied themselves with refreshments, one man sat alone. His feet were laying on a leg rest and his hand dipped a biscuit into a cup of tea as he enjoyed the merry sight of a city burning but the atrocious sounds of his actions could not be heard. Whilst he was one to find joy in seeing flames enshroud a city in a blanket of death, his face seemed like one annoyed. Deeply minding his thoughts, he had forgotten about his biscuit which split from the middle. A chunk broke off and fell into the tea and he paused, his heart racing with fury as his temper nearly snapped, but knowing that he should not ever subject himself to a fit of rage before his own men, he sighed and calmed himself, seeking to contribute less to the graying of his hair with the stress he is already confined with. A door opened far behind him and footsteps were led into his bridge but he paid no heed. His captain noticed that his commander was waking from his rest, righting himself on his chair, and prepared himself to receive new orders.
Dropping the other half of the biscuit into his tea, he brushed his hands clean of crumbs and drew a fist. “Are all our gunners this fuckin’ blind?” The admiral who had supposedly suppressed his anger spoke with every word coated in flames. “I want this entire city reduced to ashes, not a lone fucking neighborhood.” He raised his voice at the captain.
“Aye, sir.” Taking no offense for his aggression was common, the captain turned to his pilot and commanded him in brief, “You heard the admiral. Signal all units.”
The pilot stood by the control panel whose levers and buttons were all part of a system of patterns that he had memorized and there were hundreds that represented an array of orders but it did not take him long to figure out the needed combination. He turned a key that unlocked the console and flicked switches across the board with precise motion but fluid like a dance. Once he had confirmed that he performed the right tasks, he turned his key again and locked in his orders. The horn of the ship bellowed, grabbing the attention of all signallers across the fleet. A telegraph of the admiral’s command was passed to the crew on deck and the signal lamps placed on every side of the ship flickered a code. In a moment, their message was conveyed from ship to ship until the entire fleet had received their admiral’s command. The last vessel rebounded the code that traveled from the edge to the center like a ripple in a cup and when the captain saw that all had been informed, he faced the admiral who nodded in return. The captain handed his flare gun and ammunition to the watchman who quickly ran towards the door, loading the canister as he did, before bursting out of the bridge onto an open wing. He aimed the gun at the sky and fired, the flare illuminating the fogged sky, hoping that the furthest ship leagues in the distance would be able to see it. Turrets of the nearest ship who caught sight of it first halted their gunfire and it became oddly quiet to the sailors whose ears had been stuffed by the sound of explosions that had happened for the past hour without pause. The turrets adjusted their arc and older vessels creaked and once sailors had scrambled to take up their new positions, the more experienced ships resumed their fire sooner than most before the fleet thundered regularly again.
It put the admiral’s heart to rest when he witnessed the prettier sight and could finally return to his initial plans. “Ensign, do you have my report?” He asked, captivated by the fire that had spread across the skyline.
“Yes, admiral.” The ensign replied, making his way to the table.
The admiral heard the pages of his report rustling and snapped his fingers, telling the chatter to stop. His junior comrades cleared their throats and returned their empty glasses and unfinished snacks onto the servants’ trays as they gathered around the central table. Looking at his tea, dirtied by the biscuit he had dropped in it, the admiral drank it as a man who wasted nothing and set his cup on the saucer before promptly rising from his chair, straightening out his uniform that was gray unlike most admirals who would have worn a navy blue. It once belonged to his father who had a fit larger than his build for its sleeves were slightly too long and his trousers, held up by a belt that sat above his hips, hung over his shoes covering his heels but he never sought a tailor to change it. He kept the original size and design of when his father had received it decades ago but despite his achievements, he did not display any of his awards. Wearing no medals, no ornaments, the only pieces of value that he owned were his buttons and rank plates on his shoulder which had four double-headed eagles on either side rather than the stars that the republic commonly used. When he turned around, his face was struck by warm electric lights that showed his worn appearance, but he was still a clean-shaven man. His brow was scarred from an accident as a child and he had intense eyes of blue. Still, by no means was his stature little even compared to his father, having the ordinary frame of a sailor in the engine room and the brains of a navigator. Mikhail Radilov, Admiral of the Rus, was belonging to the open sea that he had been caged away from ever visiting and when he marched towards his table of operations, each step resounded with a cluster of aura. Although uncontainable with excitement, his demeanor was always stern, never showing it and as he took his place beside his admirals, he gestured for the ensign to quickly lay out his reports tidily. Radilov placed markers on a map encompassing the entire length and width of the table, and making sure that he was following everything that the admiral had asked of him, the ensign laid out a stack of numbers and documents that soon became clear to every officer what it entailed.
Holding his chin, deep in thought, many recognized the shape that the markers formed on the map. “So, this is the infamous North Sea Wall.” A flag admiral assumed that this was the prospect that the admiral had searched for. “Our final barrier…” He looked at his comrades who knew also of the gravity of such a blockade.
As he drew his finger along the line of markers, the admiral answered their assumptions, “Indeed, but I am uninterested in breaking out of a prison that keeps us fed and fat.” Radilov pressed his fists against the table and leaned over the map.
“How so do you mean?” Standing beside him, an elder color admiral asked, his eyes staying on the reports.
Radilov turned to his chief advisor as if he had expected him to know having been a comrade of his late-father but the elder simply did not wish to state it. Looking at each of his junior admirals and the questions that formed in their eyes, the admiral moved a pot of markers by the ensign’s hands nearer to himself and spilled it across the table. All curious and wanting to hear his plans, the headquarters fell silent and the only sounds made were the markers being placed along a coastline drawn in ink that was accompanied by a sheet of paper, the reports that his ensign had provided. Soon, it appeared to become obvious to his junior admirals by what he meant but still, they had the wrong assumptions.
“An invasion?” Another flag admiral blurted out, taking no time to consider his strategy in depth. “An invasion of that scale would take years of preparation.” He warned as if he thought that none of his comrades had noticed the hole in his plan.
“Then, you have your answer.” Widening his eyes, a younger color admiral dismissed his blatant thoughtlessness, wondering how he came to earn his rank. “I doubt that the admiral would want to test their defenses without the grand marshal’s help.” In the corner of his eye, he saw that the admiral gave no reaction.
The turret fire had not ceased but their gathering had muted all other noises coming from the outside and although it was still deafening to new sailors and those who have never fought on a ship before, the attentive admirals treated the explosions as ambience and leaned over the scattered pages. The less inclined brought out their pipes and smoked, calling over Radilov’s servants again to continue their drinking and snacking, needing to fidget with something other than the rusty cogs in their heads. The few who paid attention to the contents of the reports in detail were loyal to their hardworking ethic but Radilov was quietly judging them by their faces that grew more confused as they tried to bridge each and every document. However, when one became enlightened, the effect of his realization spread throughout his comrades like wildfire only to find that the plan was not to their satisfaction even if it was true. When they had begun to notice a pattern, the admiral’s devious plan came into light.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8JIH4IJUYc
