Chương 44: Chapter Forty Four

"The Drake," Griffith said to her tired audience of Marine-Knight cadets, her voice echoing off the walls of the massive hangar they'd just entered.

"Considered old, but far from outdated, the Drake is the workhorse design of the Royal Navy and the craft most of you will fly should you be fortunate enough to be chosen as designated pilots for your future postings."

It said a lot about the almost mystical reputation of shards that, despite the fact that many of the cadets present were still covered in sweat and heaving from their recent run, they nonetheless perked up to gaze around the room eagerly at the many shards on display, including the one Griffith had just stopped in front of. For his part, William was too busy trying not to hack up a lung to pay much care about any of the planes on offer.

When it came to Drakes and Unicorns, as far as he was concerned, once you'd seen one example of each design, you'd seen them all. Though he didn't miss the way some of the noble-born members of House Royal scoffed – quietly – at their Instructor's words. Nor was it hard to understand why as William straightened up to look at the nearest machine.

His gaze sliding up over the four guns mounted in the nose, he took a moment to admire the gleaming aluminum frame before focusing on the craft's 'birdcage' canopy, which served to partially obscure the rear-mounted propeller beyond. Between those features, the fore-mounted stabilizers and the wings sat to the back of the craft, the Drake was as typical an example of a shard as one could find. Which was precisely the problem.

In a world dominated by bespoke machines and limited production runs, the Drake was a standardized design intended to be easily maintained, repaired and replaced. Which, relative to the competition, also made it cheap. Which, as far as the aristocracy was concerned, meant it was bad. A fact reinforced in their minds by the fact that, more often than not and given that it was the Royal Navy's Shard of choice, the knights piloting said machines were of common birth.

For a noble house to choose the Drake as their own Shard of choice was to tacitly admit in the eyes of the aristocracy that they couldn't afford better.

"An aluminum frame. Four repeater cannons. Three ballasts. Storage space sufficient to load one thousand two hundred rounds of ammunition," Griffith continued, voice smooth and commanding, somehow utterly untroubled by the fact that she'd been leading the morning's PT.

"And all of it irrelevant if the pilot doesn't know what she's doing." Glancing up, William could see that the other members of his team were now listening with rapt attention, even as their exercise clothes stuck to their sweaty forms. Resisting the urge to sigh, he made sure to straighten up too, for fear of being called out for not paying attention.

If nothing else, the past two weeks back at the academy had shown him beyond a shadow of a doubt that his position as their instructor's secret booty call garnered him no kind of preferential treatment. Not that he'd have been in any position to act in that role if it were requested. The mind might have been willing but the body was spongy and weak.

"To that end, class, I ask you this: what is the most important factor in an aerial battle between shards?" The veritable succubus cum terminator continued, unwilling to wait for a response before pointing at a random girl who was pretty much immediately wrong footed. Which was hardly unexpected. Yes, they'd spent the last two weeks on theory, but none of it had actually related to combat.

The poor girl would have been better prepared if the question had been on how to effectively fill out a maintenance request or correctly file a flight report.

"Armor?" the girl hesitated. Griffith nodded.

"A reasonable guess, but entirely incorrect." The girl wilted, but seemed relieved that no punishment was forthcoming as Griffith instead continued on with her speech.

"Since the first magical contract positioned the mage as the queen of the battlefield, the defensive capability of combatants has consistently been outpaced by that of their offense. Certainly, some breakthroughs like that of Kraken scale armor championed by Houses like New Haven have made to shorten the gap between the shield and the spear, but that is all they've achieved. A shortening. And rarely for long." The woman's hand came down to the side-arm at her hip.

"As evidenced by the invention of the bolt-bow as a direct counter to anti-magic. A weapon which, as I'm sure you all well know by now, is perfectly capable of piercing anything short of plate armour at under a hundred meters. And at ranges far beyond that with the newly developed Spell-Bolt." More than a few eyes made to turn in his direction at the dark elf's words, but they didn't linger long as Griffith roared.

"Eyes front!" Every head present snapped back to the front with enough force to give the owners whiplash as their instructor continued.

"This universal truth of offense being more potent than defense is even more true for shards. Backed up by the power of a mithril-core, the larger caliber weapons sported by shards possess significantly higher velocity than a handheld bolt-bow, allowing for both greater range and killing power." The woman's hand patted the extruding barrel of one such repeater mounted to the nose of the Drake she was standing in front of.

"Make no mistake, whether an aluminum or wood frame, a dedicated burst of repeater fire will shred a shard in very short order. Either through destroying its flight surfaces, its internal aether-piping… or killing the pilot."

"I'd be tempted to say weapons then, but agility seems the correct answer here, ma'am." Another black-clad cadet spoke up.

"The potency of a weapon relative to a shard's armor is irrelevant if the weapon can't hit." William resisted the urge to shake his head.

"A not unreasonable answer," Griffith hummed consideringly.

"One corroborated by the design principles of most shard manufacturers. For years we as a nation have quested to make craft lighter and more agile. Better able to out-turn foes and get on their tail by cutting inside their own turn circle. Better able to dodge incoming fire while strafing Airships and castle walls. Still, even with the lightest craft in the world, that agility isn't born from nothing. There's yet another factor that facilitates agility."

"Speed." Said another girl whose name William didn't know.

"It doesn't matter how tightly a shard a shard can turn, if it's going slow enough then it's a sitting duck." Griffith raised an eyebrow, prompting the girl to continue.

"I mean, that's what my aunt says. She says that's why orc wyverns need numbers to stand a chance against shards despite being so much more maneuverable. Because while they can change direction with a flap of their wings, it doesn't much matter because all shards have to do is fire a burst from beyond the range of their breath. Then they just peel away and the wyverns can't catch them."

"Would I be correct in assuming your aunt is a navy woman?" The cadet nodded and Griffith smiled.

"Well, I will say that is a most insightful answer, but one that is only partially correct for it fails to account for another facet of a three-dimensional combat environment."

"Altitude ma'am." William said finally.

"Yes!" Griffith said, whirling to face him – and to her credit, her eyes only widened a little as she realized it was him that had spoken.

"Explain." He took a breath.

"In aerial combat terms, altitude and speed are both subsets of the same base function: Energy. Altitude being potential energy and speed kinetic. For a shard, kinetic energy is expended with every turn, climb, roll and twist. Each time one of these maneuvers is performed, a shard loses kinetic energy and thus speed. A shard that loses too much risks either stalling, or in a combat environment, falling prey to other attacking craft as it languishes lethargically in the air."

He idly noted some of the other high born starting to nod along.

"Fortunately, while kinetic energy is a fairly limited resource, there also exists potential energy in the form of altitude. By throwing a shard into a dive, a pilot is able to convert potential energy into kinetic energy. The same, naturally, is true in reverse. By placing a shard into an incline, a pilot may convert their current kinetic energy into potential energy for later." And then some. Naturally, with the aid of gravity a plane descending could move faster than when it was flying level.

To that end, he idly had to wonder just how many shards have fallen victim to Wyverns attacking from above while engaging in low level passes through the mountains?

"Though at the risk of leaving themselves vulnerable in the process," Griffith finished for him.

"Hence why the first action of a shard launched from an airfield will be to climb as high as possible before the enemy reaches them. And likewise why an airship will always try to reach its maximum altitude before launching craft." She tapped the nearby Drake again.

"A shard in possession of a higher energy state than its foe has the power to dictate the engagement. Should the foe attempt to flee, they have the power to catch them. Should a foe engage them, they have the power to escape them. Speed and altitude are what allow a pilot to choose when and where to engage a foe who lacks either. A pilot that lacks either and thus languishes on the deck has no option but to die." Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

Well, that wasn't strictly true, William thought. While a higher energy state was valuable in the opening moments of an engagement, a pilot at a lower energy state did actually have a few options in how to respond. The most obvious of which being to kill speed and force an overshoot, thereby allowing the defending pilot to blast the attacker into oblivion from their now reversed positions.

Again, he had to wonder how many shards had fallen prey to that maneuver the moment a drake opened up its wings like parachutes, forcing the fixed-wing craft to overshoot. He shook his head, he had a feeling all that would come up later. For now though, it seemed Griffith was just trying to emphasize the age-old adage.

'Speed is life. And that means altitude.' As lessons went, it was a good one.

"If you learn nothing else over the course of this semester," the woman continued.

"Know this: An aerial battle is slow. It's not a battle of twitch reflexes and hand-eye coordination. It's a battle of positioning and decision making. Of understanding the capability of your shard and that of your enemy, your relative levels of both kinetic and potential energy, the current state of the battlespace and other shards in it. It's about deciding on a course of action that provides you the maximum advantage while diminishing that of your enemy. Can you out turn them? Can you outpace them?

Can you outclimb them?" Everyone was listening raptly as the woman slapped the Drake for a third time.

"Which leads us back to the Drake and the unfortunate reality that every foe you come across will be well aware of your specs - while you may not yet know the abilities of whatever monstrosity they've just pulled out of their family workshop." She grinned, all teeth.

"Fortunately, being aware of the Drake's strengths does nothing to nullify their existence. To that end, while the Drake is certainly less agile than more recent designs, with a wider turning circle, the added weight of the design means that in a dive…" William listened as intently as any other person. This was why he was here after all. To know his enemy.

"Why are you looking to set up a meeting with the Whitemorrow and Plumgarden heirs?" William paused midstep. Turning slowly, he cocked his head towards his teammate as he idly shifted the basket full of laundry he was holding.

"Marline? I thought you were heading out to the baskets?" That was where most of the year was headed despite this technically being a free period. Accessible only to second years, the baskets were a series of shard cockpits that had quite literally been ripped from old or trashed shards. Rather than being repurposed for new machines though, they'd been converted into what were basically budget simulators. Albeit, simulators that literally only simulated a control interface to practice with.

With that said, the many buttons, levers, switches and pedals were useful for cadets hoping to practice their take off and landing checklists. Which for the moment, was just about the entire population of House Royal and a few members of other houses as well, given that the Trainee certification tests were at the end of week three – and failing them would mean that the cadet in question wouldn't be allowed to fly the following week when practical flight training began on the Academy's unicorns.

"I will, but I have a question first," the dark elf said.

"It's been niggling at me. It's out of character for you. And that's usually dangerous."

"How'd you even find out I was trying to set up a meeting?" he asked.

"You asked Bonnlyn. She's not subtle." He considered that for a moment, before he shrugged.

"They're twins. I'm a satyr. What more need be said?"

"You ignored them last year." the elf said. He shrugged.

"I was busy. Impending nuptials put a bit of a damper on the old libido."

"I'm sure," she deadpanned.

"And the Plumgarden girl?" He thought for a second before grinning.

"Well, they're rivals. I figure if I go to her after the twins… Well, a little competition only makes a girl try that much harder…" The elf stared.

"You know, a year ago I might have bought that. More to the point, I don't think I'd have cared that you're obviously lying. Unfortunately for both of us, I know you better now William. You don't do anything for shits and giggles." He grinned.

"Did you actually just say 'shits and giggles'? Void help me, I think my vocabulary is rubbing off on you." The girl sighed in what was likely disgust.

"William. Please. Why are you trying to set up a meeting?"

"Why do you care?" he asked finally.

"Why wouldn't I?" …He didn't know why that surprised him. But it did. A lot.

"I'm… looking to support one of them for the Summerfield claim," he said finally.

"Maybe… marry one so I could intervene legally when it all pops off?" The dark elf eyes widened before leaning in close to whisper, glancing around for hidden listeners.

"Has… has your family not given up on your sister's claims? Will the Blackstones be helping them, only using her rather than you to make it legal?" He shrugged.

"Something like that."

"Fuck," the girl hissed before eyeing him.

"And your plan is to… what? Pit two counties against a dukedom and another county and assume you'll come out on top? Two airships against the entire Blackstone fleet?" William smirked.

"It wouldn't be the entire ducal fleet. They'd need to keep some in the North to maintain appearances. I figure it'll be a third of a ducal fleet. Plus, I figure we could team up with the claimant I don't pick – you know, before turning on them once the Blackstones and my family are dealt with." He could do it. It'd be tight, but the Jellyfish would be retrofitted in two years and his small fighter fleet would also be more or less ready.

Between that and a few other tricks he could think up, he wagered better than even odds he could come out on top. Theoretically, it was less risky than his fight against Tala and her team last year. … Though one wouldn't know that given the strangled look his teammate was giving him.

"Ok," she said after a moment of visibly collecting herself.

"Assuming that somehow you could actually take on a third of the fleet that's currently a match for the Royal Navy - what if Blackstones decide to err on the side of caution and send more than a third? A half? Two thirds?

"They need to-" he started to say before he was cut off.

"They're trying to overthrow the monarchy!" Marline hissed.

"And taking the Summerfield duchy would be the second to final move. Do you think they might be willing to risk overtipping their hand a bit if they thought there was even a slight possibility of you affecting the outcome at that point?" He… maybe? But…

"What other options do I have?" he asked finally.

"The other option is letting the Queen kill my sister." And that wasn't going to happen. Ever. Marline gripped him, leaning in closer to ensure her words were quiet.

"Really? You have no other option? Have you considered telling your mother what you just told me? That the Queen's well aware of her conspiracy and she's going to lose a daughter long before it comes to fruition if she doesn't back off?" He shook his head.

"She'd just send Olvia up North. Have the Blackstones foster her until the marriage." And the Blackstone clearly had some means of keeping the Crown's invisible assassins at bay. Likely better than he could.

"And you know that for a fact? Really?" He shrugged.

"They've managed to disappoint me every other time I've given them an out."

"Ok," Marline said, eerily calm now.

"Assuming your mother does exactly what you're worried about… is that a problem? For you, not Lindholm. After all, your sister's now safe and Queen suddenly has less leverage over you. He… supposed…

"Then I'd have no way to stop the Summerfield coup?"

"Except for falling back on the same plan you're currently trying to go through with – supporting another claimant and beating a 'third' of the Blackstone fleet in open combat with just two counties. Somehow." He considered it.

"William," the girl continued, eying him seriously.

"Do you ever think that you might be looking for a fight? It's like you go out of your way to pick the most batshit options available to you." He scoffed only to see that she wasn't smiling.

"William… Are you Harrowed?" she asked finally. He all but jumped back.

"Why in the hells would you think that?"

"Aside from that queer turn of phrase you just used?" she said softly.

"There's the fact that you keep inventing shit. Now, one or two innovations I could understand. But you just keep pulling more and more absurd ideas out of your ass." It was actually a little strange to hear the normally taciturn dark elf speaking so coarsely.

"Do I seem insane to you?" he asked, grinning. Rather than joke back, the girl continued staring.

"No, you don't. At least, not at first." His smile turned decidedly plastic.

"At first?" The dark elf shook her head.

"At every opportunity, it seems you pick the hardest option. The riskiest choice. The one that endangers you and whoever happens to be in your path." She ran a hand through her white hair.

"I mean, I know we joke about you being a drama prince… but that joke got me thinking. It's almost like you seek out conflict. Sure, you couch it in jokes, dramatic gestures and hard choices… but sometimes it almost seems like you're blind to the alternatives." George twitched. That wasn't true. He was fine. Those were the best choices. The most efficient ones. Stealing the Shard. Getting kicked out of his House. Banished to the academy. Challenging Tala. Killing Al'Hundra. Developing the Bolt-Bow. Beating Tala.

Blackmailing the Queen. Calling out Stillwater. And now this new plan… it was… what he needed to do.

"Harrowing," his teammate – the kid! – was speaking softly now.

"I'll admit, I only know as much about it as the next person, which is why I know what the signs are. People like that, they can't forget the things they learn. Ever. It's always on their mind. Even those that don't go mad immediately, the more lucid ones… makes them… static. Unable to change. And those ideas, those memories, they want to be used." She paused.

"Truthfully, if you are Harrowed, you're the most stable example I've ever heard of… but if you are, I'd bet your mind's full of… weapons or something. Because the way you're acting, it's like you're seeking out an opportunity to make use of them. That was… That was… In the silence that followed, she spoke again.

"Do you trust me, William?" No. The thought was instant. An instinctive reaction. She was just a kid after all. He could use her. Manipulate her. Tie her to his cause. But trust? He couldn't trust her. Nor anyone else. Not on this world. It was him alone. …And he didn't know why those thoughts surprised him. But they did.

"I thought not," she hummed, a sad smile on her lips.

"It's alright. I get it. I'm the same. Once you get used to keeping secrets, it's a hard habit to break."

"Y-" He coughed, his throat strangely dry.

"You do?" She smiled softly, some genuine mirth in her tone.

"Ah, I'd say that's another mark against you really being a 'genius' if you haven't figured it out by now. With that said, this isn't about me." She paused.

"With that said, if it makes you rethink this latest bit of insanity, I'll tell you. Happily." Her hand came down to grip his – the sensation surprisingly warm against the… cold clamminess of his skin.

"What else can I do?" The girl's smile brightened.

"Oh, want to know my secret that badly?" He shook his head.

"No. No, you don't need to tell me anything. I… want to trust you." He did. He didn't. The grip on his hand got tighter. Not painfully. Reassuringly. He wanted to shake it off. He didn't need this. He was a grown ass man. It felt nice. Comforting. He hated it.

"Then please…" she said slowly.

"Just speak to your family first? At least try to talk to them before you throw yourself into the fires of a conflict that we might have a chance to avoid. If they refuse, I promise I'll be right beside you when we board that first Blackstone cruiser." He hesitated. He didn't know why. After all, she was right. If they turned him down, he'd just continue with his plan. Nothing changed. Because they would turn him down. He was sure of it. Wasn't he?

"Ok," William said finally, ignoring the sickly sensation of something twisting in his guts.

"I can do that."