Summoning America

December 23, 1640

Cartalpas Strait

500 miles from Cartalpas

Pegasus-Class Fleet Carrier, GVS Valorous, Fifth Conquest Fleet

Lieutenant Commander Heiner Schull sat at the edge of a metal table inside the bustling ready room of the Valorous. The air was thick with anticipation and the pungent smell of engine oil. Men in leather flight jackets hustled about, reviewing their charts. Technicians rushed by with toolboxes in hand, heading to the deck to make last-minute adjustments to the Rigel torpedo bombers.

Vice Admiral Karl Feldt’s voice cut through the cacophony as he began the mission briefing. “Gentlemen, the moment is upon us. Phase One has been initiated, and now we prepare for our role in Phase Two: the Multi-Vector Assault.”

Schull glanced at his wingman, Lieutenant Haas, whose face was pale but determined. He knew they were up against a well-fortified position, and the pressure was immense. He had experience fighting against Mirishial Alpha-4s and had spent enough time in combat to tell the difference between illusions and real targets, but the challenge lay in dealing with the Pal Chimera and any other unexpected weaponry they might be surprised by.

“Our MAGINT units have detected increased concentrations of mana signals from grids B3 and E6,” Feldt continued, eyes scanning the room. “Our first wave will attack these points, forcing the Mirishials to adjust their defenses. Squadrons from the other battlegroups will then hit them elsewhere as they shift and while you return for resupply.”

“As you know,” he added, “our focus is to eliminate their anti-air defenses and establish air superiority for our bombers. We must accomplish this objective as quickly as possible, and then strike the port infrastructure before American reinforcements arrive.”

A tense silence fell over the room as Feldt’s words settled. Then, Captain Steinberg, the leader of the second wave, cleared his throat. “Admiral, the timing will be critical,” he said, his voice steady. “Can we rely on precise updates from our SIGINT units as the Mirishials adjust?”

Feldt nodded, his expression resolute. “We will be lifting radio silence soon. Our communication lines will remain open. Lieutenant Wirth’s team has set up a radio-manacomm loop with the forward units. We’ll have real-time intelligence even if the Americans jam our radio and radar.

“What about counter-measures to their illusions, sir?” another pilot, Lieutenant Vogel, asked.

“Use visual identification wherever possible, and trust in your wingmen’s confirmation,” Feldt instructed. “Some of them have experience with EDI illusion magic. Stay coordinated, and use feints to verify targets. The EDI mages typically send their illusions in one direction only; it likely costs a lot of magic energy to micromanage these illusions.”

He scanned the room again, meeting the eyes of each pilot. “Gentlemen, we’re navigating unknown waters. Our success depends on executing our plan flawlessly and adapting as we go. I have every faith in your abilities as aviators of the Gra Valkas Empire.”

He paused for a moment, letting his words resonate. “Time is against us. The first wave deploys immediately. Gentlemen, to your stations. May fortune favor us.”

With that, he gave a firm salute and the room erupted into action as the pilots and officers headed for the door. Schull and his comrades made their way to the flight deck, minds focused and resolve steeled. The roar of engines and the salty sea air filled their senses as they climbed into their aircraft, ready to land the first blow against the Cartalpas defenders.

––

Schull’s heart pounded in his chest as he guided his Antares Kaiser over the open ocean, flanked by his fellow pilots in a tight formation. The distant horizon was beginning to show the first signs of land, the enemy territory that they were about to engage. The first skirmishes against the EDI forces successfully eliminated outlying patrols, leaving the scene below empty save for the last wisps of smoke from sinking ships.

“Stay sharp, boys,” he called over the radio, his voice betraying a hint of anticipation.

The land loomed closer and the formation tightened. Everything seemed to be proceeding as planned. But then, without warning, the unthinkable happened.

“Missiles!” someone screamed over the radio. Schull’s heart jumped into his throat as he saw the first contrail darting toward them from the ground. His mind struggled to comprehend the sight. He had heard rumors of such weapons being used along the Muan fronts, but never encountered them.

The two aircraft in the lead formation were struck simultaneously. Schull’s stomach turned as he watched the flaming shards of metal spiral down, the horrified voices of his comrades cutting through the panicked comms.

“Break! Break! Evasive maneuvers!” he shouted, wrenching the stick and banking hard. The world tilted around him and his mind raced to keep up with the chaotic scene. More missiles soared upward, like piranhas sensing blood in the water.

The formation scattered, pilots diving, twisting, and turning in a desperate attempt to evade this unforgiving enemy, but it was all for naught. Pilots with years of experience, straining their bodies with the force of their maneuvers, stood no chance against the deadly contrails that seemed to follow them with an unnatural intelligence. The missiles followed their every move, chasing until they concluded their hunts with haunting explosions.

Schull’s eyes darted around the sky, seeking the source. The missiles came from somewhere along the ground, but he only saw trees and foliage.

“Track the trails!” he shouted over the radio. “We need to take those launch sites out!”

His comrades responded, eyes following the missiles back to their source, trying to pinpoint the hidden enemy. They identified the sources as more missiles rose to meet them. Again, the inescapable hunt claimed the lives of two more pilots.

“Low and fast!” Schull called, a plan forming in his mind. “Hug the terrain! They might not be able to shoot us down without direct line of sight!”

The remaining aircraft dove, skimming the treetops and hills, using the landscape to shield themselves. The missiles still came, but the natural cover provided a brief respite, reducing the frequency of launches.

“Launch sites straight ahead!” came the cry over the radio.

Schull’s heart pounded as he lined up his approach, the target site coming into view. Straining his eyes, he could see subtle movement along the treeline – soldiers attempting to reposition. As he got closer, the team of soldiers stopped, hurrying to load something into a tubular weapon on one of their shoulders. Before they could complete their task, he unleashed a burst of accurate cannon fire at the figures, shredding the wood and men below.

“Site destroyed! Move to the next!” he ordered, the battle shifting in their favor.

The first encounter with the unknown missiles had been a brutal and surprising lesson in humility and adaptability. Having lost ten aircraft to a mere handful of missile teams, they could only hope that the EDI did not have access to much more of them.

Schull’s heartbeat thundered in his ears as he led his squadron over the coastal ridge, the expansive Cartalpas Bay finally coming into view. From the shore, the webbing of city roads and conglomeration of Mirishial structures stretched out into the distance. Along the waters, hundreds of EDI ships and aircraft spread out over the bay, chaos erupting amidst them.

His breath caught as the reality of the battle laid itself bare before them. The wide horizon was ablaze with conflict, a storm of warfare unlike anything they had witnessed on Yggdra. The surface of the water was littered with flashes of yellow and blue as Mirishial projectiles crisscrossed the sky, raining anti-aircraft fire on the Gra Valkan attackers above. From the formidable Pal Chimera, bluish beams lanced outward, cutting through the air like celestial swords while its point defense system sent rapid bursts of blue bolts to intercept Gra Valkan aircraft.

As Schull’s eyes adjusted to the spectacle, he spotted the unmistakable forms of Sirius-class dive bombers and Rigel-class torpedo bombers weaving through the storm of the EDI’s attacks. Waves of bombers and fighters, hundreds strong, danced a deadly ballet over the turbulent waters, engaging both the EDI fleet and airborne interceptors.

To Schull’s right, a squadron of Rigel bombers descended in formation, releasing their payloads toward a Mirishial carrier. The ship responded with a swirling vortex of magical energy, forming a whirlpool that deflected the incoming torpedoes. Meanwhile, Sirius bombers released their payloads, striking the distracted and mana-drained vessel.

Directly ahead, a swarm of Mirishial Alpha 3 fighters rose to meet them, their sleek forms cutting through the air. Schull’s keen eyes noticed their struggling attempts to keep pace, their magical technology clearly lagging behind the Antares’ prop-driven prowess. This made it even easier to draw out and waste the enemy’s illusions.

“Break left and climb!” he ordered his squadron, feigning an attack run. Knowing that the illusions favored by the EDI were hard to manage post-casting, Schull aimed to exploit this weakness. “Prepare for feint! Alpha Threes in pursuit!”

The Antares Kaisers broke formation, accelerating away from the Mirishial Alpha 3s, who hesitated for a moment before taking the bait. Among them, Schull identified some that were clearly false images, their unnatural figures disagreeing with the natural lighting and composition of the real targets.

Schull grinned. “Reposition, squadron! Let the illusions pass!”

The Kaisers swung wide. While the Kaisers repositioned, the illusions among the intercepting group continued straight ahead along their predictable course, while the real Alpha 3s scrambled to adjust their movement to intercept. Their hesitation was all the opportunity Schull needed.

“Engage!” Schull barked.

The Kaisers turned at his order, diving back into the fray with lethal precision. The Alpha 3s, now isolated from their illusory counterparts and struggling to regain their bearings, found themselves at a severe disadvantage.

Schull led the charge, the engines of his Kaiser roaring as he swooped down on an Alpha 3, its pilot clearly struggling to match his vulnerability. Tracers lit the sky as Schull’s guns found their mark, and the Alpha 3 burst into flames, spiraling downward.

“Stay on them! Don’t give them room to breathe!” Schull commanded, his voice resolute. His men followed suit, their superior aircraft outclassing the slower and less maneuverable Alpha 3s.

The Mirishial pilots fought back desperately. Magical light bullets streaked through the air, but the Kaiser pilots nimbly dodged, their planes responding to every subtle touch of the controls.

One by one, the Alpha 3s fell, each demise a testament to Gra Valkan skill and technology. A Kaiser wheeled and danced around an Alpha 3, its guns chattering until the enemy craft exploded in a ball of fire. Another Alpha 3 attempted a daring climb, only to be pursued and cut down by a relentless Kaiser.

As the last Alpha 3 was dispatched, a sense of unease settled over Schull. The feint had worked perfectly, but the battle was far from over. A fresh squadron of Alpha 3s emerged, their appearance like wolves circling prey. 

“Second wave incoming!” he called out, eyes narrowed. “Form up and prepare to engage.”

The Kaisers moved into formation, their pilots’ faces set with determination. The Alpha 3s approached, more cautious this time, aware of the tactics that had taken down their comrades.

A dance of aerial combat commenced, Antares Kaisers and Alpha 3s twisting and turning, diving and climbing. The Gra Valkan pilots exploited every advantage, but the Mirishial pilots were more tenacious this time, more adaptive.

In the chaos, Schull spotted one of his men in trouble, an Alpha 3 on his tail. Schull rolled, swooping in to intercept. Tracers flew, and the Alpha 3 broke away, only to be caught by another Kaiser.

As the Alpha 3s began to falter, a high-pitched screech filled the air, followed by a thunderous blast. Schull watched in horror as one of his comrades was struck by this attack. There was no hole, no clean wound as a bullet might make. Instead, the wing crumpled inward, twisted and mangled by an incredible force. A shockwave rippled through the aircraft, bending at the metal, tearing at the seams. The plane wobbled unsteadily, its surface marred by strange abrasions before spiraling out of control and plunging into the waters below.

“Wind dragons!” Schull exclaimed. “Break! Break!”

Some of his men were not quick enough, struck by the wind bullets and sent tumbling out of control. From below, wind dragons emerged, their size similar to the Antares Kaisers, scales glinting in the sun.

“Coltman, bandit on your six!” Schull called, seeing a wind dragon closing on one of his men. “Gladius Three, on me! Let’s punch through these critters!”

“Copy, Gladius Leader, engaging!” responded Gladius Three, maneuvering to follow Schull’s lead.

“Frostbite Squadron, this is Gladius Leader. We’re being engaged by wind dragons; need cover on our flank!” Schull broadcasted to a neighboring allied squadron.

“Roger that, Gladius Leader. Frostbite’s en route. Hold tight,” came the reply.

“Coltman, break right now!” Schull commanded, urgency in his voice as he watched the wind dragon closing in on his comrade.

“Heh, what do these lizards have on us? The Eimorians and the rest of the Elysians are just a bunch of primitives who are only good for spreading our seed and getting atom bombed. Watch me, boss,” Coltman replied, arrogance dripping from his words. He wheeled his fighter to face the wind dragon instead of obeying Schull’s command.

“Coltman Olar, follow my order!” Schull’s voice rose, his gut churning with the sense of impending disaster. He knew Coltman’s arrogance, and it was about to cost him dearly.

“I’ll show these filthy fucking barbarians the might of the Gra Valkas Empire!” Coltman boasted, accelerating towards the wind dragon, his guns spitting hot lead.

The wind dragon reared back, mouth opening wide as a torrent of violent wind energy compressed into a concentrated bullet, hurling towards Coltman’s Kaiser. Schull’s shout of warning was lost in the terrible roar as the wind bullet collided with Coltman’s canopy. The impact was unlike anything conventional weaponry could produce; it was a force of nature, harnessed and directed with malevolent intent.

Upon contact, the wind bullet didn’t merely shatter the canopy; it unleashed a localized cyclone, a twisting vortex of compressed air that tore through the metal and glass with savage fury. The force of the wind nearly sucked Coltman out of his seat, his screams lost amidst the howling chaos inside the cockpit.

The plane’s frame buckled under the pressure of the impact, wings twisting unnaturally as the internal structure was compromised. Rivets popped, panels were ripped away, and the engine choked and died as the wind bullet’s destructive force wreaked havoc within.

In mere moments, what had been a sophisticated piece of Gra Valkan engineering was reduced to a twisted, unrecognizable wreck. Coltman’s body was flung violently from the disintegrating craft, a mangled and almost lifeless ragdoll caught in the wind dragon’s wake.

The brutal efficiency of the attack left Schull’s squadron in stunned silence. The wind bullet was not just an attack; it was a statement, a demonstration of superiority that demanded respect and fear. And for Coltman, it was a brutal end, brought about by arrogance and defiance, a lesson learned too late. His taunts were now silenced forever.

Schull’s heart ached with fury and regret. He turned his Kaiser, rage fueling his every move. 

The wind dragon, perhaps sensing Schull’s wrath, twisted in the air to escape, but Schull was relentless. His aim was true, his bullets finding their mark, tearing into the dragon’s scales.

With a screech of pain and a trail of dark blood, the wind dragon and its draconian rider tumbled from the sky, crashing into the sea below.

“Gladius Squadron, regroup,” Schull ordered, his voice cold and hard.

A sudden burst of static, then a voice, panic evident,” Gladius Leader, this is Ironclad Squadron. We’re being overwhelmed by Alpha 3s; requesting immediate support!”

“Copy, Ironclad. Frostbite, expedite that cover. We need to assist Ironclad,” Schull responded, the battle shifting around them.

“Understood, Gladius Leader. Frostbite’s on your six. Break when ready,” the voice from Frostbite Squadron crackled.

“Gladius Squadron, break and form up! We’re moving east to assist Ironclad. Frostbite has our backs,” Schull commanded, keeping his voice steady amidst the chaos.

Gladius Squadron confirmed Schull’s orders, engines roaring as they pivoted in the new direction. Their momentary clash with the wind dragons, as intense as it had been, was but a mere footnote in the larger battle that continued to unfold across Cartalpas Bay.