November 4, 1640

Noralshian Strait, Conshal Island Chain

Destroyer Squadron 15, US Navy Seventh Fleet

USS Barry

Captain Victor Winslow sighed as he stared at the Gra Valkan battlegroup, a muddied combination of feelings churning in his heart. Having served during the Lourian and Parpaldian Wars and having played a direct role in slaying Nosgorath, he felt disappointed with escort duty. Guarding convoys represented the worst of both worlds. He experienced not only the anxious tensions of wartime, but also the tedious boredom of peacetime.

He didn’t even have the luxury of stealth, which the submarines below him enjoyed. If tensions reached a boiling point, his ship would be the first to get fired upon — and he did not want to risk fighting the Gra Valkans this far from friendly territory. If the Gra Valkans came at him with a full battlegroup, he wouldn’t be able to protect the convoy.

Despite this, there was a small part of him that wanted the Gra Valkans to just try. “Fuck around and find out,” he thought to himself.

His silent wish went unheard, and the Gra Valkan ships continued to follow them, trailing them from a respectable distance of 60 miles. This lackluster game of tag continued for a few more hours unabated, leaving Captain Winslow a husk. There were only so many card games he could play, so many stories he could tell before everything drew to a boring drab.

Finally, he was graced with something to do — or rather, oversee. His convoy detected yet another set of mines blocking their path, obstructing a strait between two island nations belonging to the long-defeated Conshal Alliance.

“Sir,” his navigator said, “It’ll take the Guardian a day or two to clear a path for us.”

Winslow pondered his options. “How long will it take if we back up and circle around the northern island?”

“18 hours, give or take,” the navigator replied, “But there’s a Gra Valkan fleet in the area. We have the right of way, but…” he trailed off.

“Yeah,” Winslow nodded, “I doubt the Gra Valkans would try something, but I’d rather not grant them that opportunity in the first place.”

“I agree wholeheartedly, sir,” the navigator responded. “Permission to resume our blackjack game?”

“Permission granted,” Winslow said, resigning himself to yet another day of victories.

——

Winslow yawned as he walked out of his quarters, holding a Monopoly box. He felt a bit disappointed that people now refused to play card games against him, but inwardly enjoyed the fact that his skill (or luck) was unparalleled. Looking down at the box, he smirked at the thought of seeing his shipmates’ faces when he crushes their hopes. Unfortunately for him, a sudden interruption forced him to set aside that prospect.

“Captain Winslow to the bridge, Captain Winslow to the bridge,” the radar operator’s voice came over the intercom.

Although he was slightly dismayed at having been dragged away from his planned activities, he responded to the summon with all the professionalism expected of a U.S. Navy captain such as himself. As he hurried up to the bridge, he wondered what sort of surprise had sprung up. He once again entertained the possibility of a Gra Valkan attack, hoping that if it did happen, he wouldn’t be surrounded on all sides by a massive fleet.

When he arrived on the bridge, he greeted the radar operator, “What’s the situation, Morrison?”

Morrison gestured toward a room filled with screens and consoles, “Sir, we’ve detected a new fleet of Gra Valkan ships. Please follow me to the CIC.”

The two men ventured toward the adjacent room, where the radar operator showed him a respectable contingent of Gra Valkan ships posted to the northwest. Winslow’s executive officer, Commander Bryson, was already present, his grim face conveying everything he needed to know about the situation.

Morrison brought the officers to his station, explaining, “Radar picked up a fleet of 20 Gra Valkan ships blocking the exit of the strait ahead of us, about 200 miles ahead of us, bearing three three zero degrees, relative. Along with the Gra Valkan ships behind us, that makes 40 ships total.”

A fleet of 40 Gra Valkan ships was nothing to scoff at, enough to cause him a few doubts. He was mostly confident that his 8 destroyers and 2 submarines would be able to crush the Gra Valkan forces in one fell swoop. However, this instant annihilation could only be executed if they were allowed to launch a first strike against them. Since they weren’t at war, Winslow couldn’t launch missiles at the Gra Valkans; the only thing he could do now was wait for the Gra Valkans to conduct an action that could signify a declaration of war. In this case, it would be a breach of the 50-mile buffer radius around the convoy.

“They’re planning to trap us in the strait,” Winslow realized, seeing the spacing between the Gra Valkan vessels. “Current policy prevents them from moving their ships within 50 miles of our own, but this rule also applies the other way around.” He curled his hands into fists, slightly agitated by the implied situation he would now have to handle. “They could effectively lock us in here for however long it takes our governments to come to an agreement – or until someone gets an itchy trigger finger,” he said with a worried tone.

Commander Bryson added on to Winslow’s concern, “With the way the war is going in Mu, the supplies in this convoy are absolutely necessary. Delaying this shipment by a week, or more, or even destroying the supplies outright could spell a complete rout for Muan defenses. The Mirishials are already spread thin, forced on the defensive trying to handle the Gra Valkan Navy.”

The atmosphere in the room quickly grew sullen as the men digested the possibility that this containment could very well mean a huge shift in the course of Elysian history. The United States had initially planned to support the EDI with supplies and training, allowing the hastily constructed alliance to handle its own defense without American intervention. This was a precaution on part of President Lee’s administration and their fear of exhausting the populace too quickly with a series of wars.

The new circumstances that the Gra Valkans have placed them in, however, threw a wrench in this plan, ironically making the long-term situation worse for the Gra Valkans. This blockade will undoubtedly be successful in advancing their short-term war effort by denying the Muans of their much-needed supplies, but would inevitably lead to American involvement one way or the other. Either the Muans would be forced into such a disadvantageous position that the United States would have to join the war for the sake of global security – and to prepare for the arrival of the Ravernal Empire – or the Gra Valkans would stray too close to the convoy and trigger a response.

He immediately notified Navy HQ of the developing situation, who merely told him to stand by as they attempted to get hold of the Gra Valkans. With no further orders from HQ, Winslow shared his thoughts with Bryson, who empathized heavily. “There’s no way out of this, is there?” Winslow asked.

Bryson leaned on a nearby table, hands clasped as he thought about potential solutions. “It’s risky, but we could try to run the blockade?”

Winslow thought of the same thing, feeling glad that he wasn’t alone, but still harbored doubts. He couldn’t let his inherent bias sway him from making an informed decision, and so played devil’s advocate. “Let’s say we run the blockade,” leaning over the table to adjust friendly pieces representing his fleet. “We consolidate, form a spearhead and bust through, but that still leaves us open to Gra Valkan fire.”

“Assuming they’re willing to fire on us and formally drag us into the war at this stage,” Bryson interjected, believing that the Gra Valkans wouldn’t do something so irrational.

Winslow thought about Bryson’s words for a moment. Indeed, the Gra Valkans were a methodical kind, having orchestrated the quick conquest of most of the Mu continent by now, and even having planned for complete domination for their own homeworld. Yet, he didn’t think such logic could be applied now. Winslow countered, “ Right now, the Gra Valkas Empire is like a cornered animal. If Mu and the Holy Mirishial Empire continue to receive shipments and intelligence unopposed, then the Gra Valkas Empire will certainly lose the war, and they know this. They might not be willing to drag us into the war here and now, but can you say that for certain?” Winslow’s tone grew stern, his volume increasing, “Can you say for certain that none of our cargo ships will be lost, none of our men will get hurt from this gamble?”

Bryson was left speechless. Winslow’s question was rhetorical; everyone knew the answer. It was a fat, obvious ‘no’.

Winslow cleared his throat, “Please excuse me for getting a bit heated, but this plan is too risky. The only way we get through the blockade unscathed is if we fire the first shot, and I’m not too keen on the idea of breaking orders to start the largest war we’ve ever been in since World War 2.”

Their debate was then cut short by a slightly panicked announcement from the sonar operator, “12 subs coming from the northern island, Valkies, 30 miles out, bearing two eight zero degrees!”

“What the fuck?” Winslow blurted. His sudden reaction was unprofessional, but he couldn’t help it given the contents of the announcement. He hurried over to the sonar operator’s station, confirming the surprising claim to be true. “How the hell did they get so close?” he wondered aloud. Before anyone could respond, he quickly shifted into combat mode, giving orders, “Keep an eye on those subs, Ricci. Commander,” he turned to Bryson, “Bring the ship to general quarters while I coordinate with the rest of the fleet.”

“Sir,” Bryson nodded, hurrying up to the bridge alongside Winslow. He patched into the ship’s intercom, “Attention on deck, this is Commander Bryson. General quarters! All hands man your battle stations! All hands man your battle stations!”

While Bryson readied the ship for combat, Winslow hurriedly issues orders to convoy and its escorts, “All ships, sail hard to port! Put some distance between us and those subs! Captain Kirchoff, have your subs form a screen and hold your fire unless the enemy subs get within 30 miles of the convoy!” Winslow then turned to the radio operator, “Open a line to headquarters.”

“Done,” the man said.

“This is the captain of the USS Barry requesting authorization to engage the Gra Valkans. A fleet of Gra Valkan submarines has breached our buffer zone and are within 40 miles of the convoy.

The reply was quick, “Acknowledged, Barry. You are free to engage, but the Department of State requests that you hold fire unless absolutely necessary. We will divert Destroyer Squadron 31 to assist, ETA 5 hours. You may operate at your discretion until then, captain.”

As much as he wanted an easy way out, he didn’t want it at the cost of a full-blown war. For once, he actually agreed with the bureaucrats and diplomats in the State Department. “Understood, HQ. I’ll maintain distance and hold fire unless necessary.”

Thankfully, the submarines seemed to only be showing their faces, traveling no further than the mouth of the massive cove that they cunningly used to hide from American sensors. A thought of concern flashed across Winslow’s mind as he wondered how they knew about the range of American sonar and how to evade them, but this was quickly overshadowed by the movement of the northern Gra Valkan fleet.

“Sir,” Morrison exclaimed, “The northern fleet is moving at 20 knots toward the convoy! They’re trying to intercept us!”

“Understood. Notify me if any ship breaches the buffer zone.” After distributing all his commands, he directed his attention to the view outside the bridge.

Bryson approached him, “Captain, the fleet is ready for combat.”

Winslow nodded, “Understood. Hold fire for now. Let’s hope we can look back on this as a close call, and not as the spark that ignited a war.”