Konteradmiral Leptis had made up his mind: if he ever made it back to Ditrysium, he was retiring from the navy.
It wasn’t that he hated his job, per se. At his rank the work itself was quite comfortable, limited to administrative duties and the occasional command, and both the pay and pension were respectable. Neither was he ill-suited for the role: nearly twenty years of patrols and exercises in the Walrus Ocean had given him a comfortable grasp of sailing, of the ins and outs of the northern seas and of the warships he commanded.
But for once patrols and exercises weren’t the only thing Leptis was asked to lead. These days a new breed of leaders was in charge of the Changeling Admiralität, less concerned about Olenian raiders and more with outlandish concepts like sea control and force projection - as if such things were possible in waters that froze over half the year! And now, instead of enjoying a relaxing post in a nice, safe port, Leptis would be made to spend the twilight years of his career running errands for them.
He grumbled to himself as he squinted through the snow beyond the bridge window. Damn Lysander. Damn Chrysalis. This far north it was impossible to tell the icebergs from the islands from the sea: it was all just one big field of white. Through the blizzard, he could make out a single solitary speck of black on the water ahead: the destroyer Lacrimal was leading the task force, slowly charting a path through the maze of ice. To port, the cruiser Vesali trailed a short ways behind with her own destroyer escort bringing up the rear.
In the middle sailed Leptis’ flagship, the aptly named CNS Terror, a battlecruiser of thirty-four thousand tons. She was a proud, modern vessel with centralized fire control, several batteries of the latest flak cannons available, and no less than eight thirty-point-five centimeter naval guns, as Leptis made a point of explaining to any creature who would listen. She would have been capable of thirty knots were she not in coastal waters filled with ice; but at the moment the entire task force was doing less than five.
There were a dozen changelings on the bridge, most of them officers, and between them the workload of navigating and maintaining formation was light. One of the ensigns was just standing around and fiddling with a toothpick held in his magic. Leptis sneered at him. “What do you think you’re doing? We’ve got a job to do!” The Ensign jumped a little, dropped the toothpick and gave a sharp salute.
“Damn the ice, order the engine room to take us up to half ahead,” the Konteradmiral ordered. “Signal the Lacrimal and tell them to speed things up too, I’ll be damned if we don’t reach Mathair Fearainn by morning.”
The Ensign went to the voice-pipes to relay the command. In a few minutes the rumble of the engines grew louder and the task force crept forwards just a little bit faster.
The ice floes whined and growled against the Terror’s hull, and Leptis cursed under his breath. The whole mission was a folly, a fool’s errand that served no purpose but to make some Admiralität bigwig feel important. They were to sail north - in April, no less! - and sit in some frozen, Queens-forsaken fjord as encouragement while negotiations with the Polar Confederation were ongoing. Never mind the war with Olenia, the southern convoy routes, or the tensions with Equestria; high command wanted their greatest warships ready to bombard igloos and ramshackle clanholds. For a konteradmiral of his station it was downright insulting.
He straightened his cap, adjusted his collar and paced across the bridge, scowling at the crew to give them a little encouragement of their own. The mission was an absurd waste of resources, true, but with any luck the bears would start kissing Changeling boots the moment a battlecruiser showed up on their shores. Fat lot of good it would do the hives, but at least Leptis would be home from Mathair Fearainn by summer. If he could actually get there, that was.
The lead ship had slowed again. As he watched the black speck grow closer, Leptis turned to one of his officers and scoffed. “What in Tartarus is the holdup? I thought I ordered them to get moving!”
The Kommodore gave a shrug.
“Sir!” the Ensign at the voice-pipes interrupted. “Transmission from the Lacrimal. They’ve spotted unknown ships, possibly hostile. They’re awaiting further orders.”
Leptis walked to the head of the bridge, took out his binoculars and peered into the distance. To the port of the Lacrimal were a number of small boats making their way through the floes. The icebergs and the storm had hidden them from view until now, but they were headed for the task force at a brisk pace. Leptis counted six of them in total, steam billowing from their stout funnels as they approached the lead destroyer.
“Has the Lacrimal tried to signal them?”
“Yes, sir,” the Ensign replied. “They haven’t responded to hails.”
“Order them to keep trying and fire off warning shots if they come any closer.” Leptis lowered the binoculars, looked to the Kommodore. “Never heard of pirates in these waters, but those don’t look like merchant vessels either. Any idea what we could be dealing with?”
The Kommodore stared through his own binoculars, frowning as he watched the interlopers close in. “Does it matter? If they get in our way we ought to show them what happens to those who interfere with our mission. The Lacrimal should have no trouble blowing them out of the water.”
“Local fisherpenguins, maybe?” the Ensign chimed in.
A plume of water shot up from the hull of the Lacrimal, and all heads turned to watch. A fireball followed as an explosion ripped the ship in two, throwing sailors and debris alike into the freezing ocean. Seconds later a rumbling shockwave passed over the Terror, and hackles rose among the crew.
The torpedo boats broke off their attack pass and turned towards the rest of the task force.
“Swing us around to starboard!” Leptis ordered the changeling at the helm. “All hooves to combat stations! Signal the Vesali and Tensor, tell them to set up a picket line and engage while we retreat to a safe distance.”
All at once the bridge swung into action. Rear officers rushed to their posts, sounded whistles and barked orders. Leptis stood his hooves up on the console and glared at the approaching boats, his muzzle twisting into a snarl. “I will not lose a battleship to some flotilla of polar savages!”
While the Terror began her long, slow turn to starboard, the Vesali surged ahead with heavy smoke rising from her funnels. With her forward turrets positioned she unleashed a volley of shells at the approaching boats that whistled through the freezing air before detonating among the ice floes. One projectile found its mark, obliterating the lead boat and sending twisted scraps of metal high into the air. As the mangled remains of its hull sank the other boats changed course, weaving through the icebergs and spreading out while the cruiser’s secondary guns opened fire. The Tensor soon moved up to join in, her pair of ten-centimeter guns firing rapidly at the attackers as she wheeled into position.
With the escorts covering her retreat the Terror made a break west, back towards open water. As Leptis’ view of the battle disappeared behind the aft superstructure he leaned against a railing to allow himself a brief reprieve. He sighed, wiped his brow; he was getting too old for this sort of excitement. Lysander would no doubt be furious at him for losing a destroyer, and he let his eyes become unfocused as he mulled on the ramifications. They’d still let him keep his pension, surely. He’d only lost one ship and some three hundred ‘lings, give or take.
“Admiral! Come quickly!”
Leptis jolted out of his stupor, noticed the Kommodore shaking him. He raised his head, looked about the bridge. Some of the lower officers had gathered at the port window and worried murmurs were being passed amongst the crew. Striding across the room he pushed aside his underlings and peered out the window to see what all the commotion was about.
Less than a mile away to the southwest drifted a pack of icebergs. A column of black smoke rose into the air from behind them, silhouetted against the snow. As Leptis watched, the source of the smoke moved into sight: a large, low, portly-looking warship spotted with rust and bristling with cannons. It made for the Terror at full tilt, smashing through the sea ice as it went.
“Has it been identified?” Leptis asked calmly, frowning at the Kommodore.
“No, sir, but it looks like an old griffon battleship. Pre-revolution, almost certain to be obsolete. None of us recognize the flags.”
He raised the binoculars and had a look at the flags for himself. A blue pennant with a white star hung from the ship’s mast, fluttering in the howling wind. As he squinted at it he heard thunder, saw smoke discharge from the heavy guns in the battleship’s fore turret. He blinked.
“Incoming!”
The officers barely had time to duck before the whole of the Terror shook. The sound of rending metal drowned out all else, and commotion broke out among the bridge crew as the younger lieutenants ran back to their stations while the older ones screamed orders at their underlings. The Ensign huddled wide-eyed on the floor, hooves covering his ears while a dozen different commands were shouted at him.
Leptis simply laid on the floor and tried to catch his breath while muttering every expletive he could think of. Of course they’d have a battleship. Of course they’d get within range without being spotted. Just his luck.
He clambered to his hooves, made sure his cap was on straight and stomped at the floor to get everyone’s attention. “Damage report, now!”
The damage control officer stepped forwards. “One hit to the superstructure, no visible penetration. One of the flak guns was destroyed.”
Leptis scoffed. “Is that all? Bring the main batteries to port, and load armor-piercing! We return fire on my mark!”
The enemy battleship was making headway. Her hull shuddered and groaned as great chunks of ice were crushed to pieces against it, but she didn’t slow. If anything she moved faster, soot and cinders surging from her stacks and billowing high into the air. She was only a few hundred yards out now, and gunfire cut through the air as her secondary cannons took potshots. As these sailed overhead the Terror responded in kind, her smaller guns throwing shell after shell into the attacker’s bow while the main armament rotated into position.
Up on the bridge, Leptis watched the battleship draw nearer and ground his teeth. They were in close, close enough that the range advantage of his heavy batteries meant nothing. The Terror either had to destroy her opponent now, retreat, or risk being damaged in a point-blank gunfight.
“Admiral!” shouted the Ensign. “Fire control reported in! The main battery is in position, they’re ready to-”
Another boom of cannonfire sounded, and this time the bridge shook with the force of the impact. The crew all ducked their heads, but Leptis only winced as the blast rang in his ears. He didn’t need to ask for a damage report this time; he could see it himself as the burning wreckage of the rangefinding tower fell past the bridge. It didn’t matter: at this distance it would be all but impossible to miss.
“Well, don’t just stand around!” he growled at the Ensign. “Return fire!”
As the ensign relayed the order to fire control, Leptis braced himself against the bridge console and glared out the window at the doomed battleship. A mad grin spread across his face.
The roar of the guns was deafening. The whole ship rocked under the force of their massive recoil, not having been designed for such a close-range broadside, and even hanging onto the console Leptis stumbled as the bridge rolled to starboard. He kept his gaze on the window though, and as soon as the fire and smoke cleared he laid eyes on the attacker.
The battleship’s bow had a few new dents in it. Otherwise… nothing had changed.
It was the armor, he realized. An old vessel like that would have armor along her entire length instead of just the belts, and the angle had allowed that plating, thin as it was, to deflect even the Terror’s massive shells.
He clenched his teeth and ground his hoof into the floor. “Damn gunnery crews can’t… bloody weather! Damn bloody admiralty!” he sputtered as he threw his hat down. The Kommodore squinted at him and tilted his head - as did about half the other officers - but none of them stayed focused on the admiral for long. Their attention switched back to the window, and the enormous problem getting closer by the second.
The battleship was still coming straight for them at full tilt, shrugging off the hail of fire from the Terror’s secondary guns. At this distance and heading it could only mean one thing: she was on a collision course. As this dawned on him the color drained from Leptis’ face, and he swung about to give the Ensign a wild-eyed look. “Full speed ahead! Rudder sixty degrees to starboard! Radio the Vesali and tell them to throw everything they have at that ship! I will not be rammed, do you hear me?!”
The Ensign nodded frantically, relayed the messages as fast as he could. The Terror started to pick up speed and change course, but it was too little too late. The battleship was less than a hundred yards away now, close enough that Leptis could see the crew standing on her deck.
Bears. Armored bears, wielding axes and warhammers and firearms the size of small cannons. There were dozens upon dozens of them, their shaggy white fur visible beneath the great steel plates they wore, and as their ship drew near they stomped and growled and roared over the gunfire.
The crew of the Terror held their breaths as the battleship bore down on them. Someone on deck shouted, “Brace for impact!” and dozens of changelings rushed to hang on to something. The gun crews closest to the oncoming prow abandoned their posts and fled away from the point of collision. Up on the bridge, Leptis didn’t bother to brace or run; he stood frozen and aghast at the window as the ship threatened to tear a giant hole in his very expensive, very important battlecruiser.
At the last second the battleship veered away to run alongside the Terror, leaving a few mere feet between their hulls. The changelings were still hanging on for dear life as tens of rusty cannons fired from the battleship’s casemates, a hail of shrapnel tearing across the Terror’s deck. Steel railings were shredded, emplacements were thrown from their mounts, and the sailors standing at them were ripped apart in the blast. The thunder of artillery was followed by another roar as the bears leapt across the gap between ships, their brutal weapons gleaming silver in the light of the arctic sun. Their paws found purchase on the deck and with a tremendous bellow they charged the surviving changelings.
A few lieutenants on deck tried to rally a defense. The changelings brought up rifles, took machine guns off their pintles and aimed them down at the attackers, but the bullets bounced harmlessly off the bears’ thick armor. The bears rushed the defenders, swatted their guns aside and crushed the first few beneath their mighty paws. Chitin shattered like glass beneath fearsome axe-blows, rifles were snapped in two like twigs. Screaming arose from the deck and as the remaining changelings beat a retreat the bears followed, ripping steel hatches from their hinges and storming the interior of the vessel.
The officers on the bridge watched the carnage unfold from above. The young blood stood pale-faced and still as stone. The old guard all had their hats in their hooves, were busy giving final speeches to subordinates who were no longer listening. Leptis didn’t really have a speech prepared, so he settled for another stream of curses. The bridge rumbled with the roars of the enemy, shuddered with each fall of an axe or discharge of a blunderbuss in the rooms below, and finally the noise of battle came to a halt.
The door to the bridge was blown off its hinges, thrown aside like tissue paper. Through it stepped one of the attackers, a great white bear twice the size of any changeling carrying a cut-down musket in his paws. His beady eyes scanned the room, and he snorted.
The Kommodore was the first to spring into action, gritting his teeth and leaping into the fray with a pistol clutched in his magic. “To arms, changelings! We won’t give up this bridge without-”
A loud crunch filled the bridge as the bear bit the Kommodore’s head off.
The officers fell silent. A few of them covered their mouths. The Ensign made a sound like a deflating tire.
The bear had a sort of smirk on his face as he chewed. When he was done chewing he swallowed, wiped the blood from his muzzle and stood aside the door with his blunderbuss at the ready.
Behind him entered another bear, this one even bigger. He stood upright, wearing an admiral’s cap and a blue jacket with white stars on the lapels. His massive paws laid in a parade rest at his back, and as he looked around the bridge he brought one up to twirl his thick white mustache. He stepped over the Kommodore’s lifeless body as he walked to the center of the room, and the officers all backed away to keep their distance. Some eyed their nearest exits. A few reached for their sidearms with their magic, but none dared to draw on such a monster.
“Who is in command of this vessel?” he said, his booming voice shaking the very superstructure.
One of the officers pointed a hoof to the Konteradmiral and discretely sidled away from him.
Leptis’ mouth was agape as the enormous creature approached him. As he craned his neck to look up at the beast he too made a sound like a deflating tire.
The bear looked down on him with an amused smile. “Tell me,” he said, “what is the name of this fine vessel?”
“The Terror,” Leptis said quietly, glancing at the remains of the Kommodore. “She has central fire control, flak cannons, and eight thirty-point-five centimeter naval guns.”
The bear grinned, showing off his rows of pointed teeth, and the entire bridge crew cowered. A sound like distant thunder rumbled out of his throat; and it took Leptis a second to realize it was a chuckle.
“The Terror,” repeated the bear, raising his head high and puffing out his chest. He turned, strode over to the main console and ran his paw along its edge. “A fine vessel indeed.”
The two ships were drifting now, tethered to each other with boarding hooks while the bears finished rounding up their new prisoners. As Leptis was lead out onto the deck with his comrades he caught sight of the Vesali in the distance. She was dead in the water and listing hard to port. Her escort had fared no better: she was glowing like a matchstick as she burned down to the waterline. Past the two stricken vessels sailed a pair of cruisers in ordered formation, the torpedo boats from earlier taking up the lead. Much like the battleship they were rusty old hulks, but they moved at a brisk pace despite their apparent age. Both of them flew the blue and white flag.
“Not the most modern fleet, I’m afraid,” said the bear in uniform as he laid his paw on Leptis’ shoulder. “The griffons refuse to put their newer warships up for sale, but these have served our confederation well enough.” He gestured to the superstructure behind him. “After a few repairs and refits, so will she.”
Leptis sighed, leaned from hoof to hoof as he watched the stricken Vesali roll over. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be getting his pension.
