The Fall of the Vistaran Grand Fleet
The sea stretched endlessly beneath a golden sunset, the waves carrying the might of the Vistaran Grand Fleet as it sailed toward the Frechenian coast. Over four hundred warships, including dreadnoughts, battleships, and cruisers, moved in perfect formation. Each vessel bore the proud insignia of the Kingdom of Vistara, a nation that had once ruled the seas unchallenged.
On the bridge of the VNS Imperatore, the flagship of the fleet, Admiral Luciano Calgari stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his sharp gaze fixed on the horizon. At his side, Vice Admiral Tomasso Ventura studied the latest reconnaissance reports.
"Still no sign of an opposing fleet," Ventura muttered, tapping his fingers against the brass railing. "Odd, isn't it? Frechen should be scrambling to defend their ports. We should have intercepted enemy vessels by now."
Calgari exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable.
"It is strange," he admitted, his voice steady. "But it only means one thing—they have no fleet capable of stopping us. They are either hiding or already resigned to their fate."
A chuckle escaped Ventura's lips. "Then by sunrise, Frechen's coastal cities will be ours. Their ports razed, their supply lines crushed."
Behind them, a junior officer hesitated before stepping forward. "Admiral, sir. A request for communication from the War Council in Solcia Roma. The King awaits your report."
Calgari nodded, stepping toward the radio. As the static cleared, the deep voice of King Vittorio IV resonated through the bridge.
"Admiral Calgari. You have sailed for three days now. Have you encountered any resistance?"
"None, Your Majesty," Calgari reported, his voice firm. "Frechen's ports are undefended. By this time tomorrow, we will have complete control of their coastline."
The King's voice carried a smirk. "Then proceed without delay. The world must know that Vistara still reigns supreme over the seas."
As the transmission ended, Ventura grinned. "He's going to build a statue of you when we return home, you know that, right?"
Calgari allowed himself a small smile before returning his gaze to the waters ahead. "Let's finish the job first."
---
A Shadow Beneath the Waves
Beneath the surface of the ocean, unseen predators lurked. Wallonian submarines had been tracking the Vistaran fleet for hours, waiting patiently for the signal.
Aboard the WNS Phantom, Commander Louis Devreux adjusted his periscope, studying the massive enemy fleet. His lips curled into a smirk as he turned to his radio officer.
"Inform Admiral Vastar that we have visual confirmation of the Vistaran fleet," he ordered. "It's time."
Miles away, aboard the WNS Indomitable, Admiral Vastar listened as the message came through. He glanced at Rear Admiral Koshida Skyler, who was reviewing the latest tactical projections.
"So, the old Vistaran arrogance blinds them once again," Vastar mused. "They truly believe they are unstoppable."
Koshida folded his arms. "It won't last."
Vastar turned toward his officers. "Order the submarine fleet to begin their attack. No mercy."
---
The First Strike
The first explosion rocked the sea. The VNS Vittorio, an armored cruiser, erupted into flames, its hull splitting in half as torpedoes detonated against its weak underbelly.
Onboard the Imperatore, Ventura lurched forward as alarms blared across the bridge. "What the hell was that?!"
Calgari's eyes widened as another explosion sent plumes of fire skyward.
"Submarines!" shouted an officer. "We're under attack from below!"
"Damn it!" Ventura cursed, gripping the nearest railing as the ship trembled. "How many did we lose?!"
"At least twenty vessels already sunk, sir!" another officer reported frantically. "They're hitting us hard!"
Calgari clenched his jaw. "Drop depth charges! We need to—"
A third explosion cut him off, this time hitting a dreadnought near the center of the fleet. It tilted sideways, its massive cannons useless against an unseen enemy.
Ventura's face paled. "We can't even see them…"
---
The Sky Burns
As the Vistaran fleet struggled to respond, a low hum filled the air.
From beyond the horizon, the Wallonian carriers launched their aerial assault.
Aboard the WNS Dominion, Captain Theodor Laurent watched as squadrons of fighter jets soared into the sky, their missile payloads ready.
"This is the moment history will remember," Laurent said, adjusting his headset. "Engage the enemy. Show them what modern war looks like."
The first missiles screamed through the air.
On the Imperatore, Calgari barely had time to react before a fireball engulfed a battleship just off their starboard side. He turned sharply toward Ventura.
"They have aircraft?! How?! Our scouts reported no—"
Ventura's hands trembled as he watched sleek metal planes soar overhead, missiles streaking toward their ships with pinpoint accuracy.
"This isn't possible," Ventura whispered, his voice barely audible. "This... this isn't war. This is annihilation."
A direct hit struck the VNS Leone, one of their last remaining battleships. The explosion ripped through its ammunition storage, causing a chain reaction that tore the vessel apart in seconds.
Calgari grabbed the radio, desperation creeping into his voice.
"To all ships—retreat immediately! We are completely outmatched!"
But there was nowhere to run.
---
The End of the Grand Fleet
Within hours, the once-mighty Vistaran Grand Fleet lay in ruins. Over three hundred ships were lost, and tens of thousands of sailors were either dead or drowning. The few remaining vessels tried to flee, but the Wallonian battleships moved in to finish them off.
Aboard the Imperatore, fire raged across the deck as Calgari slumped against the ruined console. Ventura lay beside him, blood trickling from a wound on his forehead.
Calgari exhaled heavily, his vision blurring. "Vistara… has lost the sea."
A final explosion engulfed the Imperatore, sending its wreckage into the depths.
On the WNS Indomitable, Vastar observed the battlefield through binoculars. He lowered them slowly, turning toward Koshida Skyler.
"It's over," he said simply.
Koshida nodded. "Vistara will never recover from this."
Silence lingered between them as the Wallonian fleet sailed through the wreckage, victorious.
Far away, in the Vistaran capital, King Vittorio IV stood frozen as the news reached him. His trembling hands crushed the paper in his grasp.
His nation's pride… was gone.
The Turning Point in Vistara
The grand halls of Castello Vittorio, the seat of the Vistaran Royal Court, were unusually silent. Normally a place of lively debate and noble spectacle, today it was filled with grim faces and heavy tension.
Seated upon his ornate golden throne, King Vittorio IV leaned forward, his fingers steepled in thought. Before him, the assembled nobles, generals, and advisors awaited his decision.
The news had arrived just hours ago—Wallonia had entered the war.
A messenger had ridden through the capital streets in the dead of night, shouting the impossible. The Wallonian Navy had annihilated their fleet. Hundreds of warships, gone. Decades of naval dominance, erased in a single engagement.
Duke Alessandro Farnese, an elder statesman and one of the King's closest advisors, spoke first. His voice was careful, but the exhaustion in his tone was unmistakable.
"Your Majesty," he began, choosing his words delicately. "The situation has… changed. With the Wallonians now involved, we must consider an immediate withdrawal from the war."
A murmur swept through the chamber.
Grand Marshal Lorenzo Salviati, one of the kingdom's highest-ranking generals, clenched his jaw. "Withdraw? After sixteen years? Are we truly prepared to throw away everything we have fought for?"
Foreign Minister Carlo Bellanti adjusted his spectacles, speaking more softly. "We have little choice, Marshal. The Wallonians have proven themselves unstoppable. If we continue fighting, we risk total destruction."
A fist slammed against the armrest of a chair.
"Unstoppable?" snarled Prince Vittorio, the King's eldest son. "This is cowardice. The Murvacians and Müllerians still fight! We have allies in this war!"
The King finally raised a hand, silencing the room. His expression remained unreadable.
"Allies?" he repeated slowly. "Tell me, Prince. Where were our allies when our fleet was torn apart? Where were they when our armies fell back at San Mercurio? Where were they when Frechen's revolution refused to die?"
The silence was damning.
Farnese, sensing an opportunity, pressed forward. "Your Majesty, the war has cost us too much already. It has drained our treasury, exhausted our soldiers, and now, with the loss of our fleet, we no longer have a means to sustain this fight. We must make peace."
Salviati, still rigid with frustration, exhaled sharply. "And what of the Frechen rebels?"
"We let them go," Bellanti said firmly. "Let them have their victory. We cannot afford to waste another year, let alone another decade, trying to suppress them. The world has changed, and we must change with it."
Prince Vittorio looked as if he had been struck. "So, we abandon the empire our ancestors built? We leave the Müller Empire and Murvacian Duchy to fight alone?"
The King regarded his son for a long moment before speaking.
"Yes," he said simply.
The court erupted into arguments, nobles raising their voices in disbelief. Some shouted that Vistara would be seen as traitors for abandoning their allies. Others pleaded for reason, saying that Wallonia's entrance had changed everything.
But the King's decision was final.
"Enough!" Vittorio IV's voice echoed through the chamber. "We will withdraw from the war. We will allow the Frechen Revolution to succeed. We will send envoys to Wallonia and end this madness before our kingdom is left in ruin!"
Farnese bowed his head slightly, acknowledging the King's wisdom.
Salviati, his pride wounded, merely saluted. "As you command, Your Majesty."
Prince Vittorio, his face flushed with anger, stormed out of the hall without another word.
The war that had defined their generation was coming to an end—but at what cost?
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