How to Start a War (2.9)
For the people of this country, "the military" simply meant the army. That was why the General Staff referred to itself not as the Army General Staff, but as the National Military General Staff.
From the navy's perspective, it was an infuriating situation, as if the army were the only military force that mattered.
Moreover, for a long time, they simply didn't have the resources to properly develop a navy.
They had to desperately expand domestic production, enrich the country, and above all, survive the harsh competition for existence.
On top of that, most of Orcsen's northern coastline along the Northern Sea was sheer cliffs with almost no large beaches, or it consisted of vast, sprawling tidal flats. Even during the Dutone War, they never had to worry about some foreign navy sailing in and landing a large force.
However, the need to protect and rescue citizens engaged in fishing and maritime trade was obvious. And as trade with the New World and countries across the Dao Sea grew, and as neighboring countries developed modern navies of their own, even Orcsen had to admit that their situation was untenable. About thirty years ago, they finally began efforts to expand their tiny navy, which had consisted of only a few ships.
But even now, compared to the army, the navy was a minuscule organization, underfunded and treated like an unwanted stepchild by the public.
So naturally, they couldn't afford to build large warships at will.
Then came the idea: If large ships were impossible, why not build a lot of small ones? (Though in reality, "a lot" only meant a handful.)
Someone had suggested that.
At the time, the same idea had arisen in Growal, another land power that nonetheless had to contend with the mighty navy of Camelot.
Growal's navy had been wiped out in the Dutone War, and with their domestic turmoil afterwards, they had been unable to rebuild their naval forces. It wasn't until around the same time as Orcsen that they finally began to properly modernize.
The Vissel Company, Orcsen's largest steel and artillery manufacturer, had proposed the perfect technical solution for that concept.
Surprisingly enough, the company's origins lay with dwarven shipbuilders.
The company's name even meant "Victory at Sea."
To this day, shipbuilding remained a core business for them. Most of Orcsen's large merchant vessels were Vissel-built, and nearly all domestically-produced warships came from their shipyards.
Vissel had proposed that, with modern technology, they could construct small hulls equipped with their latest high-performance artillery, reinforced with rams, and powered by advanced steam engines.
A warship that would race across the sea like a bird of prey, unleash its cannons, and ram holes into the bellies of enemy capital ships.
A warship that sounded almost like a dream.
Thus were the three Cormoran-class gunboats—Cormoran, Fasan, and Möwe—built about seven years ago.
Together, they formed the "First Assault Squadron," carrying the navy's hopes on their shoulders.
In the Orcsen Navy, the signal flag raised for a ramming attack read, "We Charge." As a play on words referencing the legendary charge of the orcish progenitor, it was also called the "Boar Charge Flag."
These new ships, designed specifically for that tactic, were officially classified as gunboats, but commonly referred to as "assault ships."
And yet—
The youngest of the three, Möwe, and her captain, Grindemann, were utterly exhausted, worn down, and bitter from their daily duties.
Having returned early that morning from rough-weather training exercises in the Northern Sea, the first landmark Grindemann spotted after confirming the cliffside bay lighthouse was the massive Albrecht Railway Bridge spanning the entrance to Dracheknochen Port, nestled between the towering cliffs on either side.
1.7 kilometers long.
Constructed with 50,000 tons of steel and 8 million rivets, completed over three years, it stood as a symbol of Orcsen's modernization.
It was originally supposed to be named the Gustav Falkenhayn Bridge, but the king had refused, so it was instead named after the orcish progenitor king, affectionately nicknamed "the Boar."
Completed just two years prior, the eastern foot of the bridge near the sea had been turned into a park, where citizens gathered in summer for leisure.
At this point, where the bay waters grew calm after passing the entrance, all large domestic and foreign merchant ships bound for Dracheknochen were required to stop and board a pilot boat carrying a magical pilot.
Facing the rough sea, with frequent winter fog, and with commercial and military harbor routes crossing deep within the bay, this port had a long history of maritime accidents.
After several catastrophic shipwrecks, it became mandatory for kobold magical pilots to board incoming ships, maintain magical communications, and detect other vessels with magical sensing, which dramatically reduced accidents.
Next to the seaside park stood the Dracheknochen Port Authority's Navigation Control Office, staffed by kobolds who monitored all traffic within the bay.
"Message from Navigation Control," came a low, rough voice from the feet of Grindemann.
It was Sergeant Oscar Venus, the signal chief.
A bulldog-type kobold.
His species naturally lent him a face that was both intimidating and oddly endearing. He wore his non-commissioned officer cap tilted at an angle, as he preferred.
Most people wondered how his stubby legs managed to support him for upright walking at all.
Despite appearances, his abilities as a magic communications operator were exceptional.
He, too, looked utterly exhausted.
Modern naval vessels almost always carried kobold magic specialists aboard, and he was receiving direct communications from the Navigation Control Office.
The exhaustion on his face came from the fact that larger ships didn't carry many kobolds, and any disruption in the rotation meant they couldn't adhere to their strict five-shift schedule.
Sergeant Venus had been on duty at the bridge since last night.
"They ask, 'Do you require assistance?' That's all."
"Express gratitude for their concern. Tell them we're capable of towing ourselves," Grindemann ordered.
"Aye, Captain."
Using the small central steering station as a handhold, Grindemann quickly made his way to the starboard edge of the bridge, which doubled as an observation platform and command post, stretching across the entire width of the tiny ship.
It was literally a "bridge" in both form and function, with the wheel, compass, and several speaking tubes at the center, and convenient access to observation and command positions on both port and starboard sides. But due to the ship's small size, the structure itself was cramped.
It was barely as large as a decorative footbridge you'd find over a pond in the garden of a wealthy estate.
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