Sovereign

"The elections have finally ended! Countess Jacqueline Heiss, the UOP candidate for Prime Minister, wins the race. The Heiss Government is expected to form by next week, filled with UOP and ORP members as a coalition government."

- ROCN News

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Northern Sea

Strike Force 7

June 2, 2024

18:00 Hours

Empty and desolate, the flight decks of the ONS Rebenslof seemed devoid of her planes. Cold, wet, and fast winds breezed through her decks, as the powerful waves of the high seas bashed upon the carrier.

It was dark and stormy above, as distant lightning struck upon the seas.

Beside the Rebenslof, the ONS Blackgem went under the stormy waves for mere seconds, before she rose up above, and returned down once more.

"Still as rainy as ever."

Albert remarked atop his observation post. The Rebenslof's tower was around the stern of the ship, and thus much of the clashing water from the tides didn't reach it. Still, from his vantage point, he could see how severe the storm was, as the flight decks of his ship turned wet.

"Indeed sir it is. Much of the Northern Sea would be stormy for much of next month."

"That so?" He turned around to face Captain Vogel, the Rebenslof's XO. The weather around the Northern Sea and much of the North Allas Ocean itself had always been quite extreme, but a full month?

"Yep, sir. There's even a cyclone above us."

"I know that."

"Point is, it would be funny if war breaks out again around here. It'd be another game of hide and seek."

Albert chuckled in agreement. He remembered during the Great War when the Rebenslof and his strike force would play the role of the rat as the Larissans played the cat. Utilizing the weather of the rough seas, and much clever maneuvers, use of decoys, and positioning, his sole strike force held up two Larissan carriers alone for two weeks.

"Well, we can only hope that none of that happens again. It would be too tiring."

"And a bit of a pain."

"Indeed."

Albert turned around and returned back to the bridge. Much of the days at the high seas had been monotonous for him, and so was this day.

It was all business as usual, aside from the occasional issues caused by the storm, mainly about turbulence it would cause whenever some lone recon jet would land and take off.

Much of his air squadrons was stranded, however. Naturally, to venture out with the carrier being wildly affected by the waves, would mean pilots could risk having their planes go kaput (or worse).

And so, much of their air sorties had been the critical ones. Recon flights, mine sweeps, and other such missions that kept the carrier safe were conducted.

But with the night falling upon them, a sudden accident occurred in the carrier's flight deck.

Albert rushed out of the tower, with Vogel close behind him. Even with the storm slightly waning, the powerful winds swayed and turned his navy-issued raincoats wet almost immediately, as he ran toward the commotion.

An LF-12 Zapper (Light Fighter-12) in a state of severe disrepair landed at the decks, its pilot nearly dead in order to report. It was mere luck that his guts hadn't painted his cockpit, as Albert could see how severe the damage was.

"What the hell happened?" Asked Albert to one of the crash and salvage crews attempting to tow the plane.

"Sir, I think the plane's done bad by some missile or something."

He stared upon the plane as the pilot was carried out. It had burn marks and holes upon it, especially the canopy.

Someone attacked him.

He turned to Captain Vogel.

"Sir, I know what you are thinking."

"Captain, I want you to place this ship and this Strike Force in battlestations, under my orders."

Within a minute, the alarms and announcements sounded inside the ONS Rebenslof and its escort ships.

"General Quarters! General Quarters!" Blared out in all corridors and rooms, as the crew, sailors, and other servicemen ran around like frantic rats toward their position.

Within minutes, Albert was back on the bridge.

"Gentlemen, status report!"

A brief reply came to him as he took his seat.

"Sir! Air squadrons are now being refueled and rearmed. ETA 10 more minutes until combat ready!"

"Next! Comms and Sensors."

"Sir! CIC reports all comms and sensors are online. No contacts have been detected by radar, however, but they are scanning."

"Good."

He turned to Captain Vogel, who stood behind him.

"What do you think about this?"

He frowned.

"The Larissans, there's no other possibility."

He looked back at the situation before him. Out of nowhere, someone attacked their aircraft. The pilot however had fallen unconscious, and thus could not be a reliable source of information.

Worse still, the aircraft's electronics were fried, and they could not retrieve any logs from it. Thus, he was left with guesswork, and he immediately concluded that it could only be those blasted Larissans.

Plus, who else would have the audacity to attack unannounced? Without a declaration of war? Of course, Empress Katerina. That woman loved surprise attacks.

There's no one else that could do this to us. But why?

Why indeed? His sister had just brokered a deal with the bastards. Why then would they break the peace? It bore on him as each moment passed.

Why?

"Sir! There is still no message from High Command. We are trying to reach them but there's severe interference."

He looked at his Comms Officer with a great deal of heavy thinking. His mind was wracked with calculations and questions. Interference and sudden attacks on his planes?

Then it clicked. The war must have begun already, and they were merely uninformed. This meant that he really needed to play the rat once more, as he didn't know what lay in the expanse of the seas.

At this rate, we might as well be broadcasting our coordinates to the enemy.

Which meant that he needed to initiate EMCON (Emissions Control) to prevent the Larissans from spotting them easily.

With that, he barked his orders.

"Cease that! All of you, cease all communications! This strike force is going radio silent. The radar too! Initiate full EMCON immediately!"

"Sir?"

"Do it immediately, we cannot let them find us first."

Captain Vogel tapped his shoulder.

"Sir, the other officers are now here. We should begin now."

He nodded.

…

The group of officers came up with a quick course of action. One of them proposed an air sortie in the North West, to the direction of Opellia, as the officer believed that the Larissans could be attempting to strike at their backs.

He agreed in principle, but he decided otherwise.

"We should send the sortie up North."

"Sir?"

"The Larissans would not move much further in this line. Our submarines would be a great danger for them."

The officers turned to him, their eyes showing much skepticism. It was common knowledge in the Orlish Navy that the Larissans were not a cautious bunch, a result of their overzealous Empress.

Naturally, they wanted to capitalize on such recklessness. If they could quickly spot them with their pants down by sending their sortie in the right direction, Orland could win an easy victory.

Albert however did not believe in such drivel. Empress Katerina may be reckless, but he once saw her in person before the war ended.

"Happy that you won?"

"Katerina, you fought like a fool."

"Ha, as if. You lot simply got lucky."

Her face was filled with much salt as she spat those words at him. He didn't know why she specifically approached him on that day during the conference.

It was almost as if she had a personal grudge against him.

"You still lost."

"And I won't forget that. Mr. Albert, you…one day, one day, I'll get back at you. And I will take you for myself."

"Take me out yourself?"

"You will find out."

He laughed at her words.

What a fool. You won't catch me and torture me. This is the navy, you die with your ship if you lose.

But he didn't forget her face as she left. It was the face of a woman that had learned. He had won against her by capitalizing on her recklessness.

He knew he wouldn't get that victory with the same tactic again.

Captain Vogel broke his little flashback about her. He promptly turned to him.

"But sir, we both know that they would be reckless about this. For all we know, our subs already took them out."

He nodded as he laughed.

"Indeed, but the enemy learns, gentlemen. We will send the sortie north. If not there, we will stay low."

"In other words, we would stay passive."

"Indeed. Until we find them safely, no drastic actions will be conducted. Let us play the mouse in this cat and mouse game once more."

…

Two LF-12s were readied in the Rebenslof's catapult. Their pilots methodically prepared their aircraft, as the process took many seconds of pre-flight checks. Albert watched from atop the bridge as the planes flapped their wings' control surfaces, checking if all was good.

By the time the ready signal was given by the pilot, the crew that operated the catapult cleared it, and with one final launch signal from the catapult officer, the afterburners of the flying metal beasts opened up.

One of the finest forms of modern technology that men constructed took off to the skies, its mission clear for the pilot. Strike Force 7 was stuck in a storm under severe isolation. To them, this flight and the next flights would determine the fate of this fighting city of steel.

The ONS Rebenslof, perhaps the most well-decorated veteran ship of the Orlish Navy, was now once again on the warpath, prepared to vanquish its natural foes in the high seas.

For that was what her mission was. To defend Her Majesty's interests.

The two Zappers zoomed atop the skies, as they raged up north. Their sensors were fully engaged, their radars scanning the wide seas for almost a hundred kilometers away.

<<2-1, you hear me, over?>>

<<2-2, I hear you loud and clear from here, no interference, over.>>

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<<2-2, we could probably turn and check, but that seems like a massive storm over there. Too much turbulence, over.>>

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They zoomed down toward the east, as the storm rattled their airframes. Much like eagles on a hunt, they kept all of their eyes peeled open and in high alert, as the sea further darkened, obscuring any visuals. Now they were forced on their other sensors and electronics.

<<2-2, seems clear over here, over.>>

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Moments passed as the pilot checked for any mistakes or bugs with his radar. The clutter produced by the powerful storm that raged upon the skies produced both interference and false readings and may even mask the enemy.

That was when he noticed something. The signatures were moving toward them.

<<2-1, I think this is not a malfunction.>>

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A laugh came over the radio.

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And with a hard bank to the east, the two finally placed themselves in an inevitable interception with the Larissan combatants. In the silent skies atop the Northern Sea, isolated from the rest of the world, five men, all inside their aircraft, would see the first battle of the new war.

The Great War had not ended. It was merely a ceasefire to silence the guns for a while.

But now - it would resume. And women would see it too.