Henry sat in the dimly lit room with Admiral Jason Bald, though the exact rank of the man remained a mystery. Admiral Bald's sophisticated demeanor was marred by peculiar eccentricities, such as removing his boots only when seated, a quirk that left Henry perplexed. The room bore an air of tension, a tangible unease that hung heavy in the atmosphere.
Admiral Bald finally broke their almost hour-long silence, his voice carrying the world's weight. "You will be paid for the boat, no worries," he assured Henry, whose nerves were still on edge.
Henry managed to stammer out his gratitude, feeling like a small fish caught in a vast, unpredictable ocean.
"You're taking this quite well. You've been in danger before, I take it?" the Admiral inquired, his gaze unwavering.
Henry nodded, his memories of encounters with pirates flashing before his eyes. "Yes, pirates mostly, none with warships."
The Admiral chuckled, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Good, I need men who have seen combat. Glad to have you on board, Mr. de Clare. I take it you know the news that there is a war?"
The world's weight descended upon Henry's shoulders as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. "I...I didn't start a war, did I?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Admiral Bald's laughter filled the room, a stark contrast to the grim reality they faced. "No, no, son, you didn't. Elber has invaded the homeland. The Executive is crippled; President, VP, you name it, they found a way to have an excitingly large number of bullets in them all."
"The President is dead?" Henry's voice trembled with disbelief.
"Yes, as is most of the government. It seems a coup has arrested the entirety of the Senate, and well, us Admirals decided to keep an eye on our fishing zones ever since the 4th of Mon," Admiral Bald mused.
"So, right now, they are planning to what? Land their soldiers on the coast? There is barely a beach along the fjords; where would they invade from?" Henry's mind raced, trying to comprehend the unfolding disaster.
"Oh, well, Rozia, of course. They are, as we speak, already surrounding Kelssadreth. Soon Altmar will fall; they send barges down the river, and Ravengra will be compromised," the Admiral explained, his tone laced with concern.
Henry's limited knowledge of the northern geography left him struggling to visualize the situation. "They can advance that far so quickly? Are you certain?"
Admiral Bald leaned back, contemplating the dire circumstances. "Well, it is just a guess, but our main priority is getting you back home, Mr. de Clare. We have a war to fight, don't you know?"
The Admiral's abrupt shift in tone and demeanor left Henry disoriented. He reached out to bring the conversation back to the forefront of his thoughts. "Now hold on, sir, I am just a whaler captain. I have no battle experience or place in an actual fight."
Admiral Bald rubbed his beard before exhaling heavily. "I take it due to your occupation, some pencil-pushing Sergeant didn't bother handing you your service papers. No need to lie to me, dear boy; I know what I know about you, and I can vow that I will make a soldier out of you yet."
Henry was taken aback, unsure of the Admiral's intentions. "Sir?"
"I will make sure you will fight, survive, and see this war ended before any more Daygisi die. Don't consider this a war between ideals or trivial things like honor. No, Henry, it is much more dire than that; Liza will die if you do not fight. My children will as well. Should they live long enough to be handed a rifle, even their children… I fear even at their youthful ages, they will have to soon," the Admiral's voice trembled with the weight of his words.
Henry surveyed the room, the faces of men and women, resolute and determined. "So, this is the part where I learn I am a long-lost prince or something?" he attempted to lighten the mood, his voice still shaky.
Admiral Bald couldn't help but chuckle, though it was short-lived, as the seriousness of their situation settled in. "Nothing so boring; you are just a man, a citizen of a nation that may not exist if things go the enemy's way."
The Admiral's jovial demeanor disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. "We have orders from High Command to begin mobilization, and all citizens ages seventeen to forty-five, male, female, even those nonbinary folk, will do their duty. You and your crew may have previously found exemption to active duty, but you completed your Basic Infantry process."
Memories of grueling eighteen weeks of basic infantry training flooded Henry's mind, and he couldn't help but feel the anxiety creeping in. "That was almost six years ago. I can barely remember my cadences, let alone eighteen weeks of my life at that time."
"No need, son. You and your crew will be shipped off to Karwin's Marine base. You will join in with thousands of your compatriots in refresher training and advanced infantry basics," Admiral Bald informed him, his voice tinged with responsibility as he placed a reassuring hand on Henry's shoulder.
Henry strained to hear the familiar sonar ping, but only silence emanated from the nearby screens. A chill ran down his spine as he realized the significance of the absence.
"They are not pursuing us," Henry realized, his voice barely above a whisper.
Admiral Bald handed something to a young woman in navy whites, a message of importance. "They were to receive a signal that would allow them to justify this farce of an invasion. Your vessel made the wrong turn and found their fleet across the International line. Now, the new thought is, why did you sail toward the Four-Dash Line?"
Henry recalled giving Alba the orders to sail west, not north. He didn't know much about his navigator, but Alba had always followed orders, ate with the crew, laughed, and played spades with them. "Sir, one of my men was seriously wounded, he goes by the name Alba; he was my navigator."
Admiral Bald nodded knowingly. "Oh, yes, I know the one; he is in med bay; Asher is looking to his wounds as we speak. We found no information on Alba, ID, or papers; at best, his handle of the language is proficient, but I suspect he is tweaking his Maseri accent."
"Maseri?" Henry asked, confusion etching his features.
He combed his brain hard and remembered Piland was a province of the Kingdom of Masere; he docked at Ligny several times throughout the year. But Alba's accent was nonexistent then; he couldn't recall a time it slipped. Alba spoke of Piland as if it were his home so often that Henry never once considered anything but Masere being his homeland.
"Sir, I do not think he is from Masere," Henry said, voicing his suspicions.
The Admiral leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "That is because he isn't from Masere, Mr. de Clare."
Henry's heart raced, and he could feel a storm of questions building in his mind as he grappled with the revelation.
Admiral Bald's piercing gaze bore into Henry, and the room seemed to constrict around them, the cheerful expression the man wore evaporating like mist in the morning sun. Henry could almost feel the weight of suspicion pressing down on him, but he couldn't fathom what it was directed at.The stare felt like it was interrogating his essences, his very soul.
He wants to know something from me? What would I have to hide, why would I sail north? Or is it about Alba? Does he think im covering for him?
Henry's thoughts went on downward spiral in a matter of seconds, all from just the intense gaze of this Admiral. What exactly is the Admiral accusing him of?
"He.. isn't from Daygis, or Nagansk…is," The words felt like sludge coming out of his mouth.
The Admiral arched an eyebrow, his expression inscrutable. "An Elberian?" Henry finally managed to spit out, his voice trembling with uncertainty.
"We don't know for certain, but one thing we do know is that he is known to them. That's why Admiral Druc shot him but kept him alive," Admiral Bald revealed, his voice low and filled with gravity.
If Alba was neither from Masere nor Nagansk and certainly not from Daygis, Henry was left grappling with a profound sense of unease. What was Alba's true identity?
With a pang of guilt, Henry realized that he had never bothered to ask his crew members about their backgrounds. He had made a silent promise to himself that every person who set foot on his ship would have a fresh start, no questions asked.
But now, a nagging suspicion crawled up his spine, demanding answers. He needed to speak to Alba, to confront him, and extract the truth. It was a daunting task filled with uncertainty, but amid a brewing war, the need for clarity and trust had never been more pressing.