Chapter Ninety-Nine: Private Message

While the great offshore windmills received the acclaim of the crowd in Dunkirk Harbor, the patrol squadron under the command of Commander Naylor was passing through a small headland.

This was the most treacherous stretch of sea near Dunkirk—dozens of bare, jagged, lifeless islets were scattered haphazardly across this expanse of less than a hundred miles. Submerged currents, whirlpools, dense fog, enormous seaweed, and ferocious sea beasts lurked here. This region was known as the "Headland of No Return," the most dangerous waters in the vicinity of Dunkirk.

Danger meant secrecy. It was the ideal place for lawless men to establish their lairs, and even more so, it was the best landing point for raiding parties from the Five Great Islands to infiltrate Dunkirk. As long as one occupied a small island in the Headland of No Return and set up a stronghold, the alien raiders invading Dunkirk's waters could advance or retreat at will, holding a tremendous tactical advantage.

Twelve warships fanned out in a wide arc, threading through the archipelago at the slowest cruising speed. The wake trailing behind their sterns was like a vast net that carefully sifted through the Headland of No Return. Every so often, one or two green fireballs would arc into the air from the warships and burst into a broad sheet of flame high above, signaling that the islands already searched were safe.

Gale-force winds hurled great waves against the heavy hulls of the warships. The enormous vessels pitched and rolled in the storm, and every soldier on board staggered and swayed with the motion of the sea. This was the harshest season of the year. Even when the people of the Western Continent endured the depths of winter, the sailors of the patrol squadron still had to fight their way through the raging waves.

Standing on the bridge of the flagship, Commander Naylor's adjutant, Jerry, peered through the transparent glass window at the raging sea outside. He knocked the ashes from his spent pipe, refilled it with fresh tobacco, and muttered a low prayer: "Damn this weather. I hope those damn savages won't come looking for trouble again. And if they do cause trouble, let them stay out of our sector. Let them go somewhere else!"

Every year, three to five towns along the northern coastline of the Western Continent would be harassed by the alien races. Some raiding parties were small—a dozen or twenty savages at most, pillaging a bit of grain and carrying off a few women. But some raiding parties were formidable; a force of over a thousand savages had the strength to storm an entire city.

Recalling the five armed fleets of Odin's Sacred Guard that Lin Qi and his companions had encountered, Jerry shook his head vigorously. Thank heavens they had only been pursuing the ship carrying Lin Qi and the others. If a force composed of elite Odin's Sacred Guard warriors had invaded the continent, then unless it were a major city like Dunkirk, defended by the regular army and tens of thousands of militia, every other town would have fallen at the first assault. And Naylor, who bore the heavy responsibility of patrol, would have been in serious trouble.

"Great gods, let those damn savages go harass some other defense sector! Dunkirk may be the empire's only ice-free port in the north, but there are still plenty of other places where they could land!" Jerry prayed with little sense of charity. Thirty years of peace had worn away much of the hot blood of the imperial soldiers, and thoughts like "better the other fellow die than me" had begun to take root in the minds of many rank-and-file officers and men.

In the cabin behind the bridge, set aside specifically for the fleet commander, several bright tallow candles illuminated the room. Commander Naylor sat at his writing desk, pen moving swiftly as he recorded in detail the events of the past two days.

A blood-eyed iron-winged falcon, the size of a human head, stood perfectly still on a bronze eagle perch beside Commander Naylor. Its sharp, knife-like gaze swept over the commander now and then, before it lowered its head to tear at a bloody chunk of beef gripped between its talons. The blood-eyed iron-winged falcon was one of the very few small birds capable of soaring freely through the storms of the North Sea. It was the indispensable messenger bird of the Imperial Military Command and certain military aristocrats, used exclusively to convey important and confidential documents and letters.

The blood-eyed iron-winged falcon was not only extraordinarily fast in flight, but its own strength was astonishing. A single strike from an ordinary specimen's wing could shatter a bull's skull. As for certain mutated blood-eyed iron-winged falcons, they could even spit wind blades from their beaks and slay the largest and most powerful birds of the North Sea.

After writing swiftly for a while, Commander Naylor looked up, reached out to stroke the blood-eyed iron-winged falcon, then lowered his head and continued writing.

"Respected Uncle, every word and deed of Lin Qi has been fully described in the preceding pages. Unlike others of his age, he possesses extraordinary skill and ability. Judging by his conduct, his family should command considerable wealth and influence in Dunkirk. Cultivating good relations with him would benefit the family's future. At a time when our family's elites have withered and our traditional interests are being encroached upon by other houses, we need external support."

"We need support from the high ranks of the empire—someone at the top to speak for our family's interests, whether a civil official or a military officer. Beyond that, we need support of a more substantial kind. Military strength, manpower, wealth—especially wealth! As I told you last time, had our family still possessed the financial resources of former days, I might already be a naval captain by now."

"I urgently beg you to investigate as soon as possible the background and strength of the family behind Lin Qi, and to make the decision most advantageous to our family's interests. Enclosed with this letter is a bank draft for you to use in your activities at the Admiralty, and to have my post transferred as soon as possible."

"With my rank of naval commander, the post of Military Governor of the Dunkirk District Coastal Defense Fleet should suit my standing quite well."

At this point, Commander Naylor could not help but smile wryly. Damn it all—the Patrol Squadron Commander, awkwardly filling a position that warranted a rear admiral's rank with only the rank of commander—wasn't this simply because he had failed to satisfy the insatiable appetite of that greedy undersecretary at the Admiralty? And so he had been given this miserable assignment. At this very moment, the Military Governor of the Dunkirk District Coastal Defense Fleet ought to be in some grand mansion, arm around a beautiful mistress, drinking strong liquor, smoking a cigar, and idly planning the fleet's training schedule for the coming spring.

That was what a naval commander of the empire deserved!

Not this—braving howling winds and blinding snow, wandering the turbulent sea like a dog, eating frozen, stale beef, gnawing on preserved fruit hard as ice, drinking tea as black and bitter as ink, and being surrounded all day by rough, unwashed soldiers who never bathed for the entire patrol!

"I hope you can bring me good news. Our family needs an officer who holds real power and has an actual voice in some region!"

"Wishing you good health. Also, please give my regards to Vivia, and tell her that I think of her beautiful, goddess-like face every day."

With a soft sigh, Commander Naylor glanced once more at the surging waves beyond the window, then added another passage to the letter.

"Please entrust your old friends at the General Staff to verify as soon as possible the military merits of Lin Qi, Enzo, and myself. If I now had a medal of considerable weight, it would greatly aid my promotion and raise our family's prestige!"

Sighing once more, Commander Naylor shook his head. He bound the bank draft Lin Qi had given him and the letter to the leg of the blood-eyed iron-winged falcon with the special metal cylinder issued by the Imperial Military Command.

Opening the window, Commander Naylor released the savage bird that had been trained by his own family.

C!.