“And who are… Oh, Mr. Grameson,” the captain said, recognizing the foreman of the workmen who had been sent to construct the mer-fortress. Pherson had tried to engage him in conversation a few times and had found him to be a surly and uncommunicative fellow.
“Actually, Captain, the name is D’Erle,” the man said, smiling and holding out his glove-covered hand. “General Malcolm D’Erle, UFS Bow Corps.”
Admiral Emile Arris watched the boats with Changed shock troops being loaded and looked over at the dragon-carrier -captain.
“Signal the fleet to commence launching,” he said.
The dragons started lifting off the starboard side of the carrier at once, flapping for altitude and then settling into figure eights. All of them were overloaded with fuel bombs and they couldn’t glide very well.
He paced back and forth as the boats loaded in the gathering light, looking over at the troopships from time to time and waiting for their ready signal. When the last one came he waved at the signal team.
“Signal begin invasion,” he called. “Hold the dragons back until the ships are nearly to the shore,” he added to the ship’s captain. “I want them to arrive together.”
“How long did it take you guys to get this together?” Captain Pherson asked as he watched the activity in the lagoon. “Sir,” he added.
Large wood-and-leather bubbles, each at least ten meters across, were floating on the surface. As he watched, one started to sink from the lead weights being carefully placed around its circumference. It was stabilized on the way down by mer-women. Underneath were “legs” that held it off the bottom. Other mer-women were running lines from pumps scattered on the east side of the harbor. Once the shelters were constructed the attackers would first have to either take the pumps or clear the entrance before the mer could be threatened. The mer-children could in the meantime breathe the air in the bubbles.
“A few months,” Malcolm admitted as the two bowmen continued to row around the scene of activity. Bubble after bubble was descending into the water and a large wood and metal porcupine arrangement was being constructed in the harbor’s narrow entrance. “Obviously we were the ‘workmen’ constructing the fortress. It gave the boys some experience in really solid fortification work, I’ll say that for it.”
“Why aren’t you up in Norau, sir?” Captain Pherson said, somewhat pointedly. “There’s an invasion headed that way.”
“Same reason you’re not, son,” Malcolm replied with a grin. “Edmund sent me here.”
When they got back to the shore the remainder of the “workmen” were assembling premade shelters on the shore. They were constructed of plywood with leather covers that had a strange sheen to them.
“The leather is highly flame resistant,” D’Erle explained. “And we have covers for the troops. They’ll be hell to fight in, but better than burning to death.”
“What about the archers?” the captain asked.
“Who did you think they were for?”
“Okay,” the admiral said as the boats touched shore. “Order the dragons to attack now.”
He could clearly see the battle from the dragon landing platform. The ranks of Blood Lords did not advance on the orcs unloading from the boats but instead awaited them in serried ranks on the crest of the hill. There were shelters set up on both sides and workmen still bustling around the battlefield even as the first orc ranks were formed.
But as the dragons winged over, the “workmen” dropped their tasks and ran to the shelters which had obviously been set up for them to be protected from the dragon fire. At the same time the Blood Lords lowered their shields and lifted silver coveralls from the ground until they were completely covered. As the dragons came in low in a sweeping pass over the defenseless Blood Lords, half of the “workers” popped out of the “shelters” with longbows in their hands. The dragons ran into a wall of arrows.
Each of the highly trained archers of the Bow Corps could send one arrow every two seconds for thirty minutes or one every five seconds for up to two hours. They were currently slightly out of shape, however, due to their construction duties, and the hundred and fifty bowmen contented themselves with only sending up a total of seven hundred carefully aimed cloth-yard shafts as the dragons passed overhead.
The bowmen were scattered to either side of the Blood Lord formation and they caught the dragons in a merciless crossfire. Some of the dragons were hit so badly that they fell out of the sky almost immediately while others managed to make it as far as the harbor, where mer-women waited with long pikes, before succumbing to the hideous fire. There were eighty dragons in the attack flight and forty of them were destroyed in the first volley, with most of the rest taking one round or another. But most released their loads of napalm, covering the Blood Lords, and the edge of the archers, in a rain of fire.
“Damn him,” Admiral Arris cursed as the tattered remnants of his dragons staggered back into the air. Most of them had been hit and he saw more fall out of the sky even as the fires burned among the Blood Lords.
“They dropped their loads, though,” Captain Lohnes pointed out. He gestured at the raging fires where the Blood Lords had stood. “The archers by themselves can’t stop the Changed.”
“Look,” was all the admiral said. Striding out of the fire, their shields blazing, were the Blood Lords. Just then arrows began to fall on the Changed formation.
“Captain,” Lieutenant Commander Strayer said. The XO of the Wilhelm was obviously agitated. “We’re taking on water.”
“What?” the captain said, rounding on his second in command. “Why?”
“There’s a hole in the starboard hull,” the XO replied as a petty officer came up and whispered in his ear. “There’s another one formed to port, sir.”
“Get a sail fothered over it,” the captain snapped. He watched the Blood Lord formation move down the hill and then, with a shout, charge the still-forming Changed. The Changed broke ranks and charged themselves, the two groups meeting under a cloud of javelins as more arrows continued to fall on the battle.
“We’re working on it, sir,” the XO replied as the ship shuddered to the strike of a wave. “But…”
“How much water?” the admiral asked, looking at the ship and noting that it was riding extremely heavy.
“It’s all through the lower deck, sir,” the XO said, miserably. “It’s getting ahead of the pumps. There might be more holes.”
“Where the hell are they coming from?!” the captain shouted.
“Mer off the port bow!” the lookout called.
“Where the hell are the orcas!”
“Gunny, we will refuse the right flank,” Captain Pherson said. The voice was muffled due to the silver fire-fighting suit he wore. But it was clear enough. “I believe they are attempting to slip out of our clutches.”
“SECOND TRIARIII!” the gunny bellowed, lifting up the hood of the suit to be heard. “SIX PACES RIGHT… MOVE! A-HUT! A-HUT! A-HUT! A-HUT! A-HUT! A-HUT!”
At the shoreline the Changed that were left were trying to scramble into their launches. Most of them had clawed out to sea, forgetting that in their armor there was no way that they could make it to the ships. A few had stripped off the armor but the Changed were heavy boned and heavily muscled, not to mention poor swimmers. Only those that made it to launches, and launches that had not been holed by descending cloth-yard shafts, were going to make it to the ships.