"As you say, Sire." The accent was meant to show that Hall still didn't like being treated as a common grunt, although he had just narrowly escaped death by the very Steiner's accusations. Of course, he complied, as he didn't want more of them.
It took the McDuff and her fleet only about a day to cross the light years between Newcastle and New London. By that time all of Southampton's crew had been packed inside the HMS Warwick, the prototype carrier -- which refused to move even an inch. But Hall saw it only as a minor drawback, which he expected to be relevant. The York had already sent her full bomber wing. The plan was that it hits the targets and, if Gallic ships pursue, the McDuff and her experienced light wings arrive in time to counterattack. This is part of the recorded communication between the York's bomber wing members.
Beta 7: Blimey...
Beta 1: Stick to the protocol, Beta 7.
Beta 7: Beta 7 to Beta 1, about 30 "Bulls" in Charlie 3, middle west. Unescorted. Over.
Beta 1: Cargo scan, Beta 7?
Beta 7: Negative, the debris field is affecting the scanner. I don't think they've noticed me yet.
Beta 1: Copy, Beta 7. Beta 1 to Alpha 1, "Bulls" in Charlie 2, middle west, over.
Alpha 1: Alpha 1 to attack squadron, course Charlie 2, middle west, over.
Beta 1, Gamma 1, Delta 1, Epsilon 1, Zeta 1, Eta 1: Copy.
A few minutes of disciplined silence.
Alpha 1: Alpha 1 to attack squadron. Alpha, Beta and Gamma will attack the left wing. Epsilon, Zeta and Eta right. Delta keeps the centre occupied.
Alpha 3: They are retreating!
Alpha 1: Follow.
The sound of many torpedoes being launched in the space of a few seconds.
Zeta 13: Aaaaa#%$#$# (a torpedo probably hit a piece of scrap next to Zeta 5 and detonated).
Zeta 1: I've lost a wingman!
Delta 1: Delta 1, Target destroyed, moving to next.
Alpha 1: Alpha 1, Hostile down, reassigning.
Eta 1: Eta 1, full hit, choosing another one.
Beta 1: Beta 1, Enemy eliminated.
Gamma 1: Gamma 1, tango down, attacking another.
Beta 7: Shouldn't the Castres be here?
Epsilon 1: Epsilon 1, target dodged. Closing in and switching to SNACs.
Zeta 1: Zeta 1, one torpedo hit, target operational. Recommend SNACs.
Alpha 1: Alpha 1 to squadron, close in and switch to SNACs.
A few quiet moments pass as the squadron reduces distance. The sounds of hulls receiving hits start being heard.
Epsilon 1: This knave is engaging me!
Epsilon 2: Lost life support, lost-(a loud bang).
The sound of many SNACs being fired at nearly the same time.
Epsilon 4: Bogey's almost down.
Alpha 1: Target destroyed!
Delta 10: (a loud clank and then electric interference, the ship has collided with a large piece of scrap)
Zeta 1: Zeta 1, target down.
Eta 1: This is a turkey shoot!
Beta 7: GUV! Beta 7 to Beta 1! Cargo scan successful, they, they are em-empty! And where is the Castres?
Beta 1: It's a trap! Beta 1 to Alpha 1, cargoes empty, Castres not here!
Alpha 1: (The sound of a fist hitting the control board) Bloody hell! Alpha 1 to squadron, we've been had, back to base! Full speed!
Eta 15: Eta 15 to Eta 1, enemy fighters, three o'clock!
Eta 1: Eta 1 to Alpha 1, enemy fighters three o'clock.
Alpha 1: Alpha 1 to mission commission, I request fighter support, over.
Aboard the HMS York, Captain Hall, in charge of the small operation, was staring blankly at empty space while the cries for help and the cries of pain of the shot down pilots were transmitted inside the bridge. He had known what was to happen in the Debris Field minutes before it did. He was notified that the Castres was sighted near the Newcastle gate. He could not send a fast bomber wing through the trade lane to respond because there were not enough left at Southampton. He intended to prepare the capital ships, but he was overtaken. Before that was possible, he was notified that a mass of Gallic ships had started pouring out of the Newcastle gate -- completely unopposed. Contact with Newcastle was suddenly lost. And so was Hall's hope. He understood perfectly what was happening: he was outwitted, outmaneuvered, humbugged and humiliated. The whole war to be lost because of one person, he thought, and that the person should be no other than him. Thus he kept staring at the vacuum on the other side of the wide bridge pane, in disbelief and desperation. "Orders, Sire?", asked an officer repeatedly, without response.
Steiner arrived at the bridge, not in the best of moods Mister Hall I hope you ordered the evacuation of the Shipyard. He stood in front of the Helm while a young officer rapidly explained what was happened. Hall, get the gun crews to their stations and recall the fighter wings to defend this position. I want the Warwick to move toward New London as quick as it can. Alert the Suffork and the BPA, start recalling the patrols and for God's sake someone order Battlestations!
Hall didn't react. Independently, shut within his world of guilt and shame, non-receptive to anything that was going around, he collapsed to his knees and kept staring into the empty. Steiner was too busy as the centre of all operations and the bridge was hectic, so Hall's shutdown wasn't even noticed, at least by most. But Captain Noa Jefferson, a long time Hall's confidant, was taken aghast by Hall's collapse. Hall was an authority for him, a pillar that kept the sky of resistance up. And now Jefferson had to be that pillar. He rushed in to replace the broken link and do Hall's duty instead of him.
In every tense situation, you barely feel that time passes. You live in the moment, like if this precise moment holds everything you know, everything you've done and whatever the motherhands of destiny has ready for you. It feels like you're floating aside of everything else: Hall's sweat on his front, microscophic drops of saliva coming from Steiner's mouth, the dust in the bridge, the oxygen in the air...There's nothing else. It's you, there, alone, when everything happens but you remain still. When you feel it's over and you can't even handle yourself, you hope for the worst and even if you do, you know that's your moment. You've got this short range of time, where you're free and in peace.
Of course, though, these feelings rapidly passed away with Jefferson's moment of glory. He immediatly felt that somehow he was the choosen one. He had to move, to go further. What would Sir Hall command is everything he had to develop, tactically, fastly and obviously facing Admiral Steiner's will. This sixth sense is everything he was based on, the sense of replicating whether Hall showed him for so long. -Admiral, sir. I fear Mister Hall is remaining is a state of unconsciousness for quite a long time to start worrying, not for his integrity, of course, but for our crew's- He knew how to play the paper against Steiner, just to make the fierce superior draw his attention to a Captain Ranked man. -I am well disposed to surface the enemy with this, enormously honoured Bretonian ship. It is the time that you both take your leave, yours commanding the Fleet. I will remain on the bridge, primme the Primary armament, and...ent-hold. Hold them-. Steiner was looking at Jefferson straight with his penetrant eyes, as he was looking at the smallest person he ever seen.
Jefferson wasn't convinced that his move affected possitively on Steiner's mind, but that was about all he could do, regarding the ambient.
Steiner ignored the advice of Jefferson and continued to watch the battle. One might be forgiven for thinking that the battle might have gone at a slower pace due to the sheer number of ships involved, but the Royal Navy were in no mood for a drawn out battle. Several capital ships had emerged from the debris field and almost immediately began attacking Southampton. This, in turn, forced the York to move closer to defend the shipyard, which of course put it at a disadvantage as the debris field covered any vessels within it.
Thats exactly what it, while the York moved to hold off the vanguard while the Royal Engineers quickly made preparations to scuttle Southampton, the remainder of the Gallic fleet arrived and began bombarding the York, quickly overwhelming her escort and primary defences. As more and more Royal Navy ships arrived, Steiner came to the inevitable conclusion that they could stay at southampton any longer. Order the Fleet to withdraw back to Kensington and Canterbury, Get the Engineers to leave Southampton with the Warwick and detonate what they have already put in place on the station, we will cover their escape.
Jefferson wasn't sure if that was the moment where he should give Steiner a glance of the real situation, but there was no time to loose. He forced himself to throw away the words aiming at the Admiral, while he might neurotically act regards the current situation. -Sir Admiral, the engines of the Warwick are stopped and won't turn on. We're trying to figure out what's going on and how to solve it, so we're forced to remain here and battle. We...have no other options , sir.
The Captain was highly worrying for his life at this point, though there weren't much things that he could loose by then. He could see how these words evoked on Steiner's face, and how shortly he is getting rid of his reserve of patience.
Now he was angry, he marched over to where Jefferson was standing and yelled into the radio I don't care if you have to strap torpedoes to the goddamn hull, you get that bloody ship moving, NOW! with that he turned to Jefferson and simply said grimly All forward before walking past him toward the unconscious Hall. Steiner reached down and grabbed the man by the scruff of the coat and pulled him up forcefully Pull yourself together man! he said giving the older man a shake Do you hear me Hall? Get it together man! He released Hall and turned to the rest of the Bridge crew. Listen up you dogs! We're going in to buy the Warwick time to get out, So find your courage. Heavy Mortars continue rapid fire, helmsman, Hard to starboard. Jefferson, make sure the Escape pods are ready to go when I give the word. We'll make the bastards bleed for every inch they want to take.
When an ideology is attacked for its deficiencies, it reforms itself so that it can withstand. In this minute Hall had, once again, completely recomposed his personality. But now it wasn't a simple turn of 180°. Every bit of the broken spirit had been rearranged to a different place, assembling a freak. A monster. One with nothing to lose, and with much to gain.
"Slow down with the orders, Sire! You might be the admiral of this fleet, but I am still the captain of this ship! Gentlemen, slow, sustainable fire. Save the powercore for when we are closer. Now, Sire, you may continue assigning each ship their task."
A torpedo from one of the Gallic bombers was absorbed by the York's shield.