Page 27 of Storm to Victory
“Thanks to the hard work of the Intelligence Offices in all three kingdoms, we partially broke the Mongavarian naval code and had warning that there was an attack headed for Dar Goranth.” Uncle Julien held the troll general’s gaze. “Mongavaria changed their codes after that, and through more hard work by many teams of people, we broke the naval code again recently, resulting in a large-scale victory by our navy that has crippled the Mongavarian naval forces. The Intelligence Offices have been invaluable, but they have also had a lot on their desks in this war.”
The troll general finally looked away, his gaze dropping away from Uncle Julien’s.
“Our efforts to break Mongavaria’s army codes have been similar.” Uncle Edmund’s expression had relaxed out of its tight strain. “We have partially or mostly broken it several times, only for them to change it. They had made a change recently so we’d had no warning about their attack on the Wall. Yet when Mongavaria debuted those machines, that was a stroke of luck for us.”
“Luck?” Dacha muttered under his breath. The word wouldn’t have carried to Uncle Edmund or Uncle Julien, but Fieran glanced in Dacha’s direction.
He couldn’t help but agree with his dacha’s unamused tone. He wouldn’t classify the Wall coming down and Dacha nearly dying asluck.
But Uncle Edmund was just a touch crazy like that.
“We knew their code word for those machines in their past codes. We just didn’t know exactly what that word referred to up until then.” Uncle Edmund gestured more animatedly as he spoke. “But in the aftermath of the Wall coming down, we knew exactly what the code words were referring to. Not only did we break their current army code, but we were also able to trace the source of the machines. Consequently, we know that nearly all of the ones Mongavaria had manufactured up to that point had been destroyed. We know which airships are currently in dry dock waiting for machines to be installed. And by tracing shipments of the machines and collaborating with an agent we have deeply embedded in Mongavaria, we were able to find the source of the machines. They’re manufactured in the town of Kilriden.”
A few of the human generals nodded, the light of recognition in their eyes.
But Fieran had never heard of that particular Mongavarian town. Was it somewhere important?
“A scouting mission was immediately authorized.” Uncle Julien was pointing at something on the table. Possibly a map of Mongavaria, if Fieran were to guess. “Kilriden is in the heavily fortified industrial corridor in the center of Mongavaria, within the Empress Defensive Line, and, worse, it’s between Mongavaria’s Pamfrey Army Base and Aerodrome and inland of the Ontocotee Naval Base. It’s one of the most heavily protected and patrolled sections of the kingdom.”
Yep, that was important, all right. Thanks to spending that week supporting the invasion forces pouring through the Barringstall Pass and the Engleston Gap, Fieran had some grasp of the Alliance strategy for the invasion.
The Alliance could have added a fourth invasion along that border—counting the main invasion from Fort Defense—through the southern Cartmer Gorge. But that invasion would have crashed right into that heavily fortified chunk of kingdom Uncle Julien just described.
Instead, the decision had been made to merely hold the border at the Cartmer Gorge and focus on the three northern invasions. They’d bypass the Pamfrey Army Base and the Ontocotee Naval Base, cutting those forces off from the rest of the kingdom instead of engaging them. If those forces didn’t surrender when the rest of the kingdom did, they could be dealt with at that time.
Based on the nods around the table, the generals gathered here knew all of that as well. They likely knew far more than Fieran did.
“While we have risked a few scouting flights over the naval and army bases, we haven’t pushed into the interior between them.” Uncle Julien reached a hand behind him. An aide stepped forward and put a manila folder in his hand. He placed the folder on the table. “Until now. A Kostarian airship made a daring, high altitude scouting run over Kilriden and snapped a few photographs. Unfortunately, the height makes details in the photographs difficult to discern, but we can make out enough. Paired with the information the Intelligence Offices have gathered, we can make some good deductions.”
Uncle Edmund reached past Uncle Julien, slid a photograph out of the folder, and held it up, turning it to show those around the table. “This is Kilriden. As you can see, there is a large industrial complex along with a railway hub.”
“So we bomb it.” An Escarlish general shrugged. “Should have bombed it already.”
“As we all know, our bombing efforts have been minimally effective so far.” Uncle Julien shook his head on a sigh. “It is an annoyance and has slowed production at some of their factories, especially the locations we’ve been able to hit enough times to be disruptive. But we currently don’t have bombs big enough, or aeroplanes large enough to carry them, to permanently shut down this facility.”
The Escarlish general shot a glance at the corner where Dacha stood. “Then lift the restrictions on the magic of the ancient kings. A bomb built with that magic would obliterate it in one strike.”
“No.” Dacha’s tone was steel, ringing sharp and slashing across the room. “Unleashing such a power without the control of a wielder would destroy indiscriminately.”
The Escarlish general snorted, all but rolling his eyes. “That’s what bombs do. It doesn’t matter if they’re filled with explosives or magic. Magic would just do it on a larger scale. Whatever line you’re squeamish about, we’ve already crossed it.”
“You do not understand the terror you are asking to unleash.” Dacha held the general’s gaze with his unflinching silver-blue eyes. “The magic of the ancient kings is meant to be wielded by a warrior. Its power is too great otherwise. While I am alive, I will never allow my magic or my children’s magic to be used in such a way.”
The elven generals, at least, were nodding their agreement. With the way the magic of the ancient kings was held up as near sacred, they would be reluctant to see it twisted into bombs.
“And you don’t seem to understand that not using every means at our disposal will cost lives. How many Alliance soldiers—humans, elves, and trolls—will you sacrifice for your scruples?” The general was leaning forward now, as if preparingto march over to Dacha to confront him face-to-face. “It very well could cost your life or the lives of your children if these machines aren’t stopped.”
Dacha remained unmoved, staring back without answering as if he didn’t feel a response was even needed.
Fieran shifted, not entirely sure where he fell on this debate.
On the one hand, he had seen the horrors of this war. If they could create a weapon with enough power to win the war and spare the lives of the Alliance soldiers who would be killed otherwise, shouldn’t they do it?
Yet he also intimately knew the power of the magic of the ancient kings. He’d grown up on the stories of the fall of the elven empire. The ancient kings wielding this magic had become too great, too powerful, too arrogant. In the battle that followed, warrior had fought warrior, and the clash of the magic had been so great that the land itself had been scorched and devoid of life across most of what was now Escarland and Mongavaria. While plants, animals, and people had eventually returned, there was a reason those kingdoms still lacked the lush, dense forests of Tarenhiel.
The whirling ribbons and graceful movements of that elven troupe had been far too beautiful when they’d portrayed this part of the story, not fully capturing the horror of what had happened back then.
“Regardless of our stances on this particular issue, gentlemen, that decision isn’t up to us.” Uncle Julien’s voice remained almost mild, even as it was firm enough to cut through the debate. “The ban on creating bombs using the magic of the ancient kings was written into the treaty holding the Alliance together when Kostaria joined. It is not something anyone in this room can change.”
