Chapter 50: Destiny, Part II

Admiral Russell Taylor of Galicia could scarcely comprehend the news. His mouth hung open and his gaze was unflinching as he tried to digest the report that just came through his radio.

“S-say again, Lieutenant?” asked Russ, in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

“I’m sorry, sir, but the Destiny is completely destroyed. She’s going down right now by the stern. She’ll be below the waves in another ten minutes or so. No word yet on whether the king has survived the blow.”

Hearing it for the second time wasn’t any better. Russ almost expected that the story might change, so sure was he that the first message couldn’t be correct.

“Please coordinate rescue efforts when you can,” ordered Russ. “But remember, first priority is to defeat the Javans.”

As much as it pained him to give the order, the battle wasn’t going to pause while they tried to find Galicia’s king in the wreckage. Even though there was no contact with Jack, he would still want them to keep fighting, putting an end to this battle that had already gone on for long enough.

It was a battle that was finally starting to go their way, despite what happened to the Destiny. Java had lost many ships in the course of the past hour, and the Western fleet had put up a very good showing for itself. What was even better was that Russ had gotten word that a small squadron of enemy ships had completely disengaged from the fight, moving toward the furthest corners of their radar and exiting the battle.

Russ hoped it was the beginning of many. Even now, the Visby was locked in a devastating fight with one of the Javan battlecruisers, and she was starting to completely wreck the Javan vessel. Fires were burning uncontrollably on the enemy ship, and soon her guns went completely silent. Russ authorized one last salvo that set off a chain of explosions on the ship, and she finally lost power, becoming dead in the water.

Several other victorious actions soon rang out from his radio as the Western ships overcame their enemy. By the time the sun was starting to set, the Javans were disengaging, putting distance between themselves and the Western vessels.

It couldn’t have come fast enough. For Russ, this was now the most critical part of the entire battle—the time when they could hope to recover as many survivors as possible.

“All ships, comb the waters for survivors,” ordered Russ on the main comm line. “Rescue as many as you can. The Visby will comb the area where the Destiny sunk and hopefully find some very important people.”

Various acknowledgments came through for that order, and one in particular came from a nearby ship.

“Aye, sir, the Valiant will also search the area,” came the reply from Commander Luke Ravencross. This was no surprise to Russ, as he knew that Luke had fought with Jack from the very beginning.

As the Visby was maneuvered to the site of the Destiny’s sinking, Russ sent out another important message. This one was sent to the army, where Queen Katherine was stationed. The message detailed the course of the battle, as well as the fate of the Destiny.

It was the hardest message that Russ ever had to write. How did he tell his queen that her king was missing and could very well be dead? What kind of words could he use in that circumstance that reflected the gravity of the situation?

In the end, Russ kept it simple. He sent the message as quickly as he could so he could join the men on the deck to find survivors. In doing so, he hoped that he could soon pluck Jack from the ocean.

I sure hope he survived that blast.

All Admiral Strange did for nearly ten minutes after the incoming blast on the Revenge was cough. All the debris and smoke caused by the collapse of the bridge on the hulking battlecruiser inflamed his lungs and made it difficult to breathe. He became lightheaded, and sounds became very muted despite the roar of the guns a short distance away.

Finally, he was able to open his eyes, astounded to find that he was still alive. The first thing he did was check his body, searching for any kind of phantom wound that might ultimately claim his life. When he found nothing, he pushed up off his weary legs and looked around.

The bridge was completely destroyed just above him. From his position on the stairs directly below and to the side of the bridge, he’d been somewhat shielded from the full intensity of the blast, as well as missing the accompanying collapse.

The blast threw him to the main deck, just out of distance from the falling debris of the collapse.

Though it had hurt like hell, it saved his life. It became obvious from viewing the wreckage of the bridge that no one had survived the blast. All those officers were dead, including Admiral Nick Reynolds, the commander of the fleet.

In effect, it meant that Strange was now in charge of the Javan Navy, a prospect that terrified him more than anything, especially during the middle of a battle. The ship vibrated and rocked with the release of another great salvo, and it was at this point that Strange realized just how removed he was from command.

He had no influence on the battle at this critical juncture. The only thing that anyone was trying to do right now was survive to see the end of it.

The first thing he needed was a radio. Finding an officer with one was the greatest task, especially in the calamity that accompanied the deck of Revenge.

Before he could find one, he saw another one of the Javan battlecruisers explode, taking a direct hit. The Ruthless was burning uncontrollably now, and no doubt her senior officers would soon give the order to abandon ship.

In every direction that Strange looked, all he could see were burning ships, many of them Javan.

During the last hour of combat, the battle had turned decisively against them. The Fourthie warships were just too accurate, and they’d extracted a heavy penance for the trap they fell into.

This battle seemed all but lost.

When Strange finally attained a radio, his first inclination was to reach out to Admiral Jasper Strong, the next highest senior officer in the force, however, when no answer came from Strong, Strange had to admit that he was most likely dead as well.

With the loss of so many senior officers and warships, this battle was a foregone conclusion. There would be no great repulse of the Fourthie fleet. Instead, Strange’s new priority was making sure enough of the fleet lived to fight another day.

With his mind set, he gave the order to all the ships in the Javan fleet.

“All ships, this is Admiral Harry Strange. You are commanded to cease fire immediately and make for a northeasterly course toward the Channel between Occitania and Java. This battle is over. Send your acknowledgment of my order at once.”

With those words, a slew of acknowledgments came in as the entire fleet prepared to disengage from the battle. By nightfall, the entire fleet (except those that had absconded with Admiral Strong) was now moving northeast. Thus, the task of letting Bancroft know about the failure landed directly with Strange.

It was not a call he envied making.

As darkness fell that evening, Luke and Kim were aboard the Valiant as they maneuvered the ship in the last known area of the Destiny. All that remained of the once great cruiser was some various floating debris, smaller items that had not pulled down with the ship. In the waters around it, there were many survivors of the sinking, clinging to whatever they could to keep from drowning.

“By god,” said Kim right next to Luke as their launch boat took off from the Valiant. “How could it come to this?”

“We knew it was always a risk we took,” muttered Luke. “We just never pictured it might happen to one of us. Especially not now with the ending of the war so close.”

Kim shivered next to him. It wasn’t hard to tell what she was feeling. At the end of the battle, there were still many that weren’t accounted for, including Jack, Abigail, and the other senior officers of the Destiny. What made it even worse was that several hours had passed in that time, with no word about important survivors.

There was also another critical factor as well to contend with. The current in this portion of the ocean was decidedly strong, and the survivors were now spread out a distance of a full mile or more. Many of the furthest ones out were now getting close to shore, and in the distance, Luke could see several fishing vessels out picking up survivors.

At least there was the hope that Jack and Abigail would be among them.

For now though, all the launch boats combed through the wreckage, picking up whichever survivors they could find. Many of those that were still living were wounded in some fashion, usually burns sustained from the fight. Quite a few had lost limbs in the process, and as Luke pulled them into his launch boat, he could see several familiar faces that had managed to survive the fight.

The shocking thing about it was just how many of them didn’t survive. Quite a few times, Luke would see a familiar face bobbing in the water only to get closer and realize that the person was already dead. The worst part about it though was getting that moment of false hope. He began to treat every body he came upon as someone that was dead regardless of whether or not they moved.

It just hurt a little less that way when they were actually dead.

“Luke, I just don’t see them,” said Kim after their third trip back to the Valiant. In the ensuing time, they’d managed to fill their launch boat with survivors and bring them back to the light cruiser before setting off again.

“They still have to be out here somewhere,” said Luke, his determination never wavering. “We’ll find them, Kim. I know we will.”

Kim bit her lip and gave him a look of apprehension. “What if we don’t? What if we never find them?”

It was a question that he didn’t want to answer. Truthfully, he didn’t want to confront the possibility that all of his friends on the Destiny were dead. What would it mean for their cause if Jack was dead? Or if Abigail was? She was pregnant—a blow that was made all the more crippling if she wasn’t discovered.

More importantly, who would take over if they were actually dead? Kat? Greg?

Luke shook his head, not wanting to even think about that right now. As long as there were survivors out there, he would make it his mission to find them but as it grew later in the night, he found himself losing hope.

What if his friends really were dead?

Back on land, the falling of night was also having an effect on the fight between the armies. Both Greg and Ambros were in overall command of the Western Army as it sought to contain the attack from the Javans. It was an attack that was anticipated before the battle would even begin.

A few days ago, the Javans had attempted to overturn their flank, and they were stopped in their tracks from completing that particular maneuver.

Thankfully, Greg and Ambros foresaw that the Javans would try to go through their center next, and that was exactly the attack that played out earlier that day. Successive waves of Javan soldiers hit the center of Western lines, forcing the defenders to fall back on a series of preplanned trenches and foxholes. Throughout the course of the day, the Javans had managed to push back the Western defenders, overwhelming them to the point of reaching the last prepared line of defense.

It was here that the line had to be held, and for the last two hours, the men were putting up one hell of a fight. Despite the Javan pressure, they were holding fast at everything that was thrown at them.

The casualties were horrendous though. A great many men had been killed or wounded in the course of the day, and those were just the lucky ones that had managed to make it to the rear. From what Greg heard, a good number of soldiers were trapped in pockets in the land that had already been overwhelmed by the Javans.

No doubt, many of those pockets were living on borrowed time. The biggest problem was reaching them, especially as the Javan attacks died off in intensity once night arrived. With both sides seemingly content to occupy the land they had for the rest of the evening, the question became what to do in the morning?

Would Greg have to surrender those men in the pockets to their fates? If not, then just how would he plan on rescuing them?

It was these questions he was pondering as Ambros showed up at his tent. The Swabian King and former commanding general of the Swabian armies was in direct command of the center and had overseen the withdrawal of the men back to their defensive lines. If anyone had a grasp on the situation at the front, it was Ambros.

And surprisingly to Greg, the Swabian leader seemed to get his second wind as soon as he arrived.

“You look awfully chipper right now,” noted Greg as Ambros took a heavy swig of water and joined him at the table. On the table itself was a map of the Western positions, including the defensive lines of the center, where all except the one furthest in the rear had been abandoned to the Javans.

“I wouldn’t say chipper exactly,” said Ambros, catching his breath. “But I was just on the front lines talking to the men. Despite the beating they received today, they are in relatively good shape.”

“Define good shape,” said Greg. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean they are still in fighting form with plenty of ammunition,” explained Ambros. “They aren’t beaten is what I’m getting at. I think this presents us with quite an opportunity for the morning if I do say so myself.”

Greg squinted his eyes at the other man. “Opportunity? You mean beyond just holding the line?”

“Oh yes, Greg. I don’t expect those men to play defense in the morning. They are ready to attack, and by the gods, they should be allowed to do so.”

“What exactly do you have planned? And where? We don’t have any reserves left after the battle so there are no fresh troops with which to make an attack.”

Ambros pointed to the center line where the defenders were now bunched up opposite the Javans. “We’re going to attack right here in the center and we’re going to shatter the Javan Army. I’ve been talking with the soldiers on the front line, Greg. They’re exhausted but they’re in good shape for what they endured today. I firmly believe that the Javans overextended themselves in trying to take our center. Look at the size of this bulge that’s inside our line. Our flanks have barely yielded any ground which means that the Javans have to occupy this bulge while being surrounded on three sides. I believe that as long as our line is intact, we have an opportunity here for an immediate counterattack.”

Greg winced. “I’d find it hard to ask those men to prepare for a counterattack in the morning after what they’ve been through.”

Ambros shook his head. “It’s exactly the opposite. All they’ve done is yield ground to the attacker, giving away the initiative. It’s their turn to respond now and show the Javans just who the master of this battlefield will be. Here’s what I’m thinking—in the morning, we launch a two-pronged attack alongside the center aimed at rolling back the Javan advances. Simultaneously, attacks are launched from either flank aimed at cutting off their retreat as we originally planned. We will overwhelm the center right as their path of retreat disappears. With it will go the cream of the Javan Army.”

Greg studied the movements on the map. “Ambros, I don’t doubt the plan that you have but we need a fresh body of troops to act as the spearhead for this counterattack and they just don’t exist. We used the reserve to reinforce the fifth defensive line and all the other men were used in battle as well.”

“Not these men,” said Ambros, indicating those men that had been defending the actual village of Mobust. “They’re still fresh. The fighting around the actual village has been light, and I have no reason to believe the enemy will shift his attack there tomorrow morning.”

“Our men there are stretched rather thin as it is,” argued Greg. “If we keep weakening that flank, we could invite an action by the enemy and they will roll through that line and into our rear.”

Ambros shook his head. “I don’t believe it’s going to happen. They will continue their focus here on the center. Meanwhile, we take two or three regiments to act as our spearhead and bust through their lines here, collapsing their army.”

Greg’s mouth fell open. “Two or three? There’s only five there total!”

“We’ll tell them to shorten their lines tonight and really dig in,” said Ambros. “Listen, I know this plan is risky but it’s our only chance. The Javans failed to break us yesterday and now it’s our opportunity to do so. We need to seize it, Greg!”

Greg took several moments to study the plan. He still didn’t like it but if they could overrun the Javan center, this battle and this war could be over. Was it not worth the gamble?

After all they’d sacrificed, could he not trust Ambros with his own plan?

“All right,” said Greg grudgingly. “But I don’t want to move the men until first thing in the morning before the attack launches. I don’t want to give the Javans any indication that we’re moving men before it’s too late to stop it.”

Ambros nodded. “I agree with that. I’ll give the order for them right now to shorten their lines and then we can move the men out in the early hours.”

Greg opened his mouth to say something else but he never managed to get the words out. Both men looked over at the entrance as they heard the sudden arrival of a newcomer, stopping their conversation when they noticed it was Kat.

Greg knew something was terribly wrong just by the look on the queen’s face. Her eyes were watery and her shoulders were slumped in defeat.

“Kat, what’s wrong?” asked Greg.

Her voice was hoarse and monotone. “I thought you both should know that the Destiny has been completely destroyed in the battle off the coast. Jack, Abigail, and a good portion of her crew are still missing. I’m going to link up with Russ to coordinate recovery efforts aboard the Visby.” A single tear fell down her cheek. “We’re going to search all night until we find them.”

Her voice cracked with that last statement, something that betrayed the utter stress she was in. Kat was barely holding it together, and that was why Greg walked closer and embraced her.

“We’re going to find them, Kat,” said Greg as he stroked the blonde woman’s hair. “Jack’s a very strong man. If anyone could survive a battle like that, it’s him.”

Kat completely broke down crying at that point. “The p-prophecy,” she wailed. “I k-knew it was going to take him from me. I can’t lose him, Greg!”

At that moment, words were too small. There was nothing else he could do but hold the sobbing queen.

And hope that Jack was still out there alive.

The experience was like watching a legend unfold right in front of your own eyes.

At least, that was the thought in Arnold’s mind as he watched from his foxhole while Brian charged the groups of soldiers that had his position pinned down.

Brian’s steps moved as if guided by purpose itself. His movements were clear, clean, and entirely without mercy as he stalked his Javan prey, mowing down one group of soldiers before ducking behind a tree to take on another.

Arnold was almost too shocked to even react. At first, he’d been confronting the fact that death had finally found him, as well as saying a silent prayer to Eloise that she would find happiness once he was gone.

In the next moment, everything had turned around. Suddenly, Arnold wasn’t the focus of the enemy fire as the remaining soldiers tried to take down this new attacker.

It afforded him an excellent opportunity. Arnold opened up covering fire on the closest position where two Javan soldiers were hiding behind a fallen tree and peppering Brian’s position with semi-automatic fire. Arnold drew their attention back to where he was hiding, and it was all the opening that Brian needed to take action.

One of the Javans was killed as Brian took the first shot, only for the other one to scoot around another tree as Brian charged him. It was the craziest thing that Arnold had ever witnessed. To see Brian with his bayonet looking like some kind of legendary hero as he moved was one thing he was bound to remember for the rest of his life.

The second man never stood a chance, not as Arnold kept up his covering fire.

Finally, there was only one group of three Javans left. Once the odds were evened out, the two Western soldiers continued with their same plan—Arnold would provide the covering fire while Brian cleared out the position. It all worked out beautifully until it didn’t.

Arnold winced when he heard the scream come from Brian. The Galician had finally taken a shot as he moved between positions, getting a nasty wound in the lower leg. Seeing his friend yell out in pain, Arnold sprung into action. He cleared his foxhole and kept up a steady rate of fire as he charged at the nearest position, which was hidden behind some tall grass.

The Javans looked completely shocked when they saw Arnold’s hulking body standing over them and with his rifle pointing directly at their bodies. Arnold let off a quick burst of fire, killing the three remaining men before they could so much as fire another shot.

At that moment, it was finally over. With no other threats nearby, Arnold ran the short distance over to Brian, who was now flat on his back while his lower leg gushed with blood.

“The gods piss on me, this fucking hurts!” said Brian as he rolled his head back and forth. “That bastard shattered my leg!”

Arnold couldn’t help but grin as he heard Brian swear. He knew that if the wound were actually serious, Brian wouldn’t be able to swear it about like he was now.

“Hang on tight, we’ll get that bandaged up,” said Arnold as he looked over the wound. “But first, I have to dig the bullet out. Can you grit your teeth for a minute while I do that?”

Brian looked like he’d rather be sodomized with a rusty shovel but he gave his acknowledgment a moment later. He yelled out in pain as Arnold jammed his fingers into the bullet hole, emerging a few seconds later with the small piece of metal.

“Fuck, did you pull out the bone with it?” complained Brian as he clutched his leg.

“Not even close,” said Arnold, chuckling. “Come on, we need to get you back to my foxhole.”

His words didn’t come soon enough. The sounds of rapid fire very close to their position raised the possibility of continued fighting. Since Brian would be slow on his feet, Arnold grabbed his body and carried him the short distance to his foxhole, carrying him like a baby (something that Brian didn’t seem to appreciate).

“When you’re telling everyone the story of how this went down later,” said Brian as he was clutched to Arnold’s chest. “Leave this part out.”

Finally, the two men reached the foxhole and Arnold was able to let Brian down gingerly. Taking his place next to the Galician, he pointed his rifle in front of him and scanned for any threats.

“Thanks a million for coming to get me,” said Brian after a moment as he bandaged his leg. “I was sure those three guys were going to come finish me off.”

“Not if I had anything to say about it,” replied Arnold. “Besides, it’s me that should be thanking you. You saved my life back there. If you hadn’t intervened when you did, there’s a good chance I wouldn’t be alive right now.”

“Well, I saw you were in trouble so I decided to do something,” said Brian, a grin on his face. “I didn’t know if you Swabians could fight your way out of trouble after all.”

Arnold started to chuckle. “My ass you didn’t. You’re just lucky I was still alive enough to pick you up in the end.”

“You’re right, I am thankful for that,” said Brian, chuckling along.

Arnold took several looks around as the local firing became more distant. “I wonder how long we’ll be staying here. It almost looks like it’s too dark for fighting. I imagine most of these soldiers will be finding a hole for the night.”

“If that’s the case, we can assume the fighting will probably resume in the morning,” said Brian as he turned around to look behind him. “We might be stuck in this hole as well. All that firing came directly behind us. No doubt the Javans are between us and the defensive line, as well as scattered about here in this mess of a position.”

“You don’t want to chance and try to get back to our own lines?” asked Arnold.

Brian pointed to his wounded foot. “We wouldn’t be able to move fast enough to stay out of trouble I’m thinking. Might be better just to wait until the morning. We’re just as likely to get shot by our own people as we are to be hit by the Javans.”

Arnold thought about it for a moment before nodding. “I suppose you’re right. After all, our own army will come find us in the morning when we counterattack.”

Brian gave him a sly smile. “You really think we’re going to counter in the morning?”

“Of course. Why not? There’s not that many Javans here in the center. One good push should see most of them back across their lines. That is, if we don’t cut off their retreat before we do it.’

“Let’s hope that’s the case then,” said Brian. “I’d rather be discovered by our own army than the Javans. I doubt this Bancroft asshole would be willing to give us acceptable accommodations for our trouble.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” agreed Arnold. “Judging by the name alone, he sounds like a stingy bastard.”

The two men snickered to themselves. For the next half hour, their time was filled with light chatter as the world continued to sneak into darkness. At one point, they quieted down as three Javans on patrol walked right past their position, but otherwise, nothing eventful happened.

It wasn’t until Brian clutched his leg in pain that the conversation resumed again.

“Hurt?” asked Arnold, watching the look of pain on the other man’s face.

“What gave it away?” retorted Brian dryly. “It’s like a dull ache at this point. It doesn’t sting but it pulses if that makes sense.”

“Well, look at this way—at least you’ll be off the front lines for a while,” said Arnold. “You’ll get to recover with the other wounded in the rear. And at this rate, the war is likely to be over before you’re healed again.”

Brian grunted. “We can only hope. I’m already tired of this continent.”

“Oh, it hasn’t been that bad.”

“Like hell it hasn’t,” snorted Brian. “The entire time we’ve been here, we’ve been getting shot at. I’m tired of getting shot at period. And the women? Don’t even get me started on that.”

Arnold held his tongue lest he hear about how disappointing the local girls had been. He thought the problem was that they’d most likely built up how lovely and welcoming the Javan girls would be when they got here. The main issue was that most of them were way too skinny (a symptom of their wartime food situation) and very few of them seemed to look at the Western men in anything beyond childlike wonder.

“This might be your ticket back home then,” said Arnold. “Back to Galicia. At least you know the girls there are something to look at!”

“I think that no matter where I go, I’m just destined to be complaining about something,” said Brian. “I don’t even know why you put up with me. All I do is complain sometimes.”

“Not everything you do,” corrected Arnold, chuckling to himself. “At least you’re entertaining. I’ll give you that.”

“Well, at least someone finds merit in what I do,” said Brian before rubbing his leg again. “It would be nice to go home again. Even though we haven’t been here that long, I’m already homesick.”

“What do you miss about home the most?”

“Maybe just the sight of Kalmar in the morning sun,” said Brian. “There was always something brilliant about the city, almost magical even. I think I miss being in that city more than most. Everything else, I could leave at this point but just put me back in Kalmar.”

Arnold nodded. “I miss Eloise. It feels like forever since I’ve spoken with her. I’m telling you, the minute I get home, I’m going to kiss that woman and not stop until a full day has passed.”

Brian chuckled. “I highly doubt you’re going to stop at just kissing.”

“Shit no, I’m liable to knock that woman up right then and there,” said Arnold, laughing. “Not that she wouldn’t want it. She’s been talking about starting a family. Maybe that’ll be the right time?”

Brian looked around the trees above them, swaying gently in the nightly breeze. “Let’s hope we both get our wishes then. We just have to survive the night.”

“Well, there’s no one else in the world I’d rather share a foxhole with,” said Arnold.

Brian grinned. “Never thought you’d say that about a Galician, did you?”