Page 29 of Storm to Victory
A long, heavy silence fell across the meeting room.
Fieran’s magic crackled in his chest, but there was nothing he could do with it here. The enemy was far away, and all he could do was hold Pip close by his arm around her shoulders and hope his uncles had come up with a plan for ending this.
The belligerent Escarlish general cleared his throat. “While this is all…grim, does this change anything? As awful as this is for the ogres, our current strategy will likely end the war sooner rather than later. After all, we have Mongavaria on the run, and our advantage will only increase as winter sets in, thanks to the troll ice magic we have on our side. If we win the war, we will also, in essence, liberate the ogres at the same time.”
“We need to shut down this facility to prevent Mongavaria from making more of those magic-stealing machines.” Uncle Julien tapped the map on the table once again. “Mongavaria intends to fortify the Empress Line with those machines, negating our magical advantage. That would halt our advance, if not turn it back altogether. We could find ourselves fighting a war in a bloody stalemate. Our invasion has only made such incredible progress these past few weeks because Mongavaria has been strategically falling back in a delaying action and making only minimal use of those machines while they further reinforce the place where they actually intend to take a stand. Don’t mistake our gains these past weeks for victory. This war is far from won.”
That sent a murmur around the room. These generals—the Escarlish ones in particular—apparently didn’t like to be told that their seemingly inexorable march into Mongavaria wasn’t as victorious as it seemed right now.
But the elven and troll generals were nodding, severe lines on their faces. With their long lives, those generals were the ones who had actually fought wars before. They likely remembered all too well the stalemate of a hundred years of war between the elves and trolls.
“In addition, our warriors of the magic of the ancient kings are currently at a significant risk, as are our warriors with magic of any kind. If we lose them, we lose this war.” Uncle Julien’s jaw was hard beneath his thick beard as he stared at the generals. “Simply put, we can’t win the war until we get rid of those machines.”
Fieran wasn’t about to argue with that. He’d experienced the power of just one of those machines firsthand and had seen what a whole bunch of them had done to Dacha. Until those machines were eliminated, the Alliance couldn’t unleash the full force of its magical power to win the war.
“I say we bomb the Ludin facility to put it out of action for a while.” That Escarlish general jabbed a hand at the photographs Uncle Edmund had set on the table. “A few ogres might be killed, but they will die anyway in the Mongavarian experiments.”
That sounded cold, but that general’s first priority was Escarland and Escarlish lives. From his point of view, his suggestion made perfect sense.
Even if Fieran hoped that wasn’t what his uncles actually planned to do.
“As we mentioned, bombing is still mostly ineffective.” Uncle Julien fished a photograph from the folder and handed it to Uncle Edmund, although neither revealed it yet. “It takes numerous and near continuous bombing raids to put a factory or facility out of action, and with the Pamfrey Aerodrome putting up a stiff resistance, such a campaign would be dangerous and drawn out. Nor could we guarantee that we would hit a vital enough section of the Ludin facility to cripple it.”
“And there’s this.” Uncle Edmund held up the photograph. It was even more blurry than the previous one, but it appeared to show a large yard where a faint symbol had been formed in whatever gray surface created the flat landscape.
Fieran swallowed and met first Merrik’s gaze, then Rothilion’s on his other side, even as one of the generals said, “Is that the Escarlish Flying Corps wings?”
Merrik had a grim set to his jaw while Rothilion flexed his fingers. Yet there was a glint of hope in their gazes as well.
That same hope twisted in Fieran’s chest. Could Pretty Face be there? Was this why he hadn’t been able to escape back to the Alliance?
“We believe so, yes.” Uncle Edmund’s gaze lifted past the pack of generals at the table to meet Fieran’s across the room.
So this was why Fieran had been included in this meeting. This had something to do with the Flying Corps, and Fieran was the ranking officer in the area.
“Several months ago, a shipload of Alliance prisoners was taken from the main prisoner of war camp outside of Landri.” Uncle Edmund shifted his gaze away from Fieran and back to the men around the table. “The paper trail is hazy, but our best guess is that they were taken to the Ontocotee Naval Base and from there to Ludin. They are likely intended to be laborers of some sort. The reconnaissance photographs show what appears to be a factory on the site—likely manufacturing the Mongavarian version of a magical power cell to hold the stolen ogre magic. All the elves at the prisoner of war camp were included in this transfer.”
“Are they going to experiment on elves now?” the male elf general sputtered, his face going white beneath his already pale silver complexion.
“It is a possibility, yes.” Uncle Edmund’s voice had a catch in it.
Fieran shifted, sneaking a glance at Dacha before taking in the other elves. All the elves in this room were now very motivated to shut down Ludin.
As was Fieran. If Pretty Face was there, then Fieran would do whatever it took to rescue him.
Yes, Pretty Face might be at the larger prisoner of war camp near Landri. Those Escarlish Flying Corps wings could have been done by any number of flyboys who had crashed in Mongavaria since the war began. Still…there was just something about it that Fieran couldn’t shake.
“If you are saying we can’t bomb this facility because our people are there, are you suggesting we launch a ground strike against it?” The blustering Escarlish general broke the moment. “Thousands would die in that case. Are a handful of ogres and a few of our own men worth the cost it would take to spare them? Even an ineffective bombing campaign would be better than that. The losses to the Flying Corps, and to the Alliance prisoners of war, would be far more manageable.”
Fieran used to think that generals should be like his Uncle Julien and Aunt Vriska. Good warriors who held to a strict code of honor.
But perhaps effective generals were also those who were rather awful people. It took a certain level of cold ruthlessness to send men into battle and keep sending them to their deaths until the battle was won.
Even if this Escarlish general had a point, Fieran didn’t have to like him or like his suggestions.
“No, I agree that any kind of ground strike against this facility prior to the end of the war would be inadvisable.” Uncle Julien shook his head. “It’s in a too heavily fortified area of the kingdom, and any attempt would just dangerously split our forces and focus.”
“What about a small infiltration force? Possibly from the Cartmer Gorge or landed from the ocean?” another general suggested.
