Trench Crusade: Fall of Gibraltar
( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps) It is the year 1667 of our lord, nearly six hundred years since the gates of hell were torn open and the holy land was consumed by the tides of madness.
The kingdoms of Europe have united to stem the tide of heretics and demons to the west, while the newly forged Iron Sultanate has trapped the demonic hordes from expanding east with the help of the infamous “Iron Wall” and their alchemic mastery.
With both land routes blocked by miles of in-depth fortifications, the forces of hell have taken to the seas in secret.
Legions of artificers, shipwrights, and laborers were drawn to the coastal cities of Tyre and Akko where their dark masters whispered forbidden secrets to them. Soon, a fleet of unrivaled potential took form. No two vessels were alike, as each was born from the patronage of different demons. Every soul slain in their service becoming power for their demonic benefactor and fuel for the infernal construct itself as they prowled the seas in search of prey.
Cannons the size of tree trucks were mounted along their length capable of flattening entire cities, while wards of unspeakable evil were carved into their hulls by laborers who had been driven mad at what they had forged. Eyes plucked out, these dregs would never know the touch of solid ground again as they were bound to the ship for eternity even as their decaying flesh was used to stoke the infernal engines.
Unlike the ground forces, the fleets of hell held no single demon as their master. This highly independent nature often resulted in the many newly constructed ships sailing alone or in small flotillas. The chain of command for larger fleets was forged from a mixture of fear and power as only the most capable captain of their number rose to the rank of High Captain and unites the ever fractious elements into a single force of unrivaled devastation. Such was the nature of the former man known only as “v” who was the first to claim the title of High Captain with a scheme so profound that it would shape the nature of the war for centuries to come….. --------------------------
The night’s breeze was a welcome sensation after spending the majority of the day within the underground passages of the fortress.
Fadrique looked out across the water from atop the rock of Gibraltar. Across the foaming waters he could see the coast of Africa; a vast sea of sand and stone stretch for nearly as far as the sea separating the two continents.
Unlike the bustling port of Algeciras which was nestled in the shadow of the great sea fortress, filled with an ever flowing quantity of ships coming and going, the no considerable infurstructure had been made to the African coast to create a port of similar stature leaving it much as it was. Not for lack of effort mind you. Fadrique had remembered the last several attempts to urbanize the African coast had all met with failure.
Entire piers of stone and metal had slid into the sea, while every manner of structure built upon the soil regardless of how sturdy the foundations would slowly sink into the ground. Only the most basic of wooden structures adorned in blessed wards of protection could stand there and even then for only as long as the next dust storms passage through the territory that swept all remaining structures away.
Some had said it was divine punishment from God against those who had not accepted his light, others spouted it was the workings of the arch enemy infecting the land with its vile miasma of decay. Despite being a god fearing man Fadrique put little stock in either of the two claims. In his own way he imagined the destruction as the Earth itself resisting both sides, heaven and hell, to preserve what little remained of an untouched realm it once held before the coming of man.
It was a refreshing sight to see compared to the port city he was in charge of protecting he thought as he looked down at the port below.
Even now some hundred ships sat nestled in her docks. Overflowing with merchants running supply convoys to the various fronts along the Avant or transport ships carrying thousands of soldiers and pilgrims to stem the demonic tide spewing from Jerusalem. There nearly twice as many carrying the wounded back from such battles and he caught sight of one such hospital ship unloading the latest survivors. He could tell it without fully making out the ship by the hundred or so flickering lights of candles that lined the unloading ramp to the nearest church and he could hear the hymns of the numerous priests and sisters as they sang while carrying the wounded.
For thirteen years he had commanded this base. “A lynchpin of the crusade” he had been told by his superiors. Boasting some of the most powerful cannons this side of the Mediterranean the fortress of Gibraltar was indeed impressive, yet Fadrique could feel they could be put to better use against the fallen. The heretics and their demon allies had no fleet to speak of and the armies of the lord controlled the entirety of the Mediterranean, leaving Fadrique little more than a file clerk as he oversaw the day to day troop allocations and supply chains.
As he was sinking into a rut of depression from his posting a loud metallic creak from behind made Fadrique. The old metal bulkhead leading into the fortress shook several times until a voice called out from behind it.
“A little help?”
Fadrique grinned and walked over to the door. Taking hold of it he pulled on it hard and the old metal finally gave way and opened. Standing in the interior was the sweating figure of his second in command Dorian.
A rather pudgy figure, gained from his years away from the frontlines, Dorian was nonetheless a capable leader and an excellent right hand for Fadrique.
“Much obliged.” Dorian replied as he stepped outside to join Fadrique. He stopped to look disapprovingly at the metal door before giving it a kick that seemed to Fadrique to do more damage to his foot than the door itself.
“Blasted thing!” Dorian cursed as he hopped for a moment on hi one remaining good foot. “Remind me to submit a work order to have it melted down into chamber pots.”
“I would rather not.” Fadrique replied, “I’d rather have a door that is hard to open than no door at all when hell comes calling.”
His second’s jowls fluttered as he laughed and joined Fadrique on the overlook.
“As if that day will ever come.” He said as he waved a hand across the bay. “For all their bluster, hell has as much sense for sea faring as they have for picking a fight with the almighty.”
“Besides,” he chuckled as he withdrew a wooden pipe and began filling it with tobacco, “we both know their idea of a ship is several heretics lashed together with a bit of rope and cloth.”
Sarcasm aside, Fadrique did agree with Dorian. Since the beginning of the war several hundred years ago no substantial naval engagement had been fought between the forces of the holy and the hellspawn outside of minor skirmishes along the coast or against fortified coastal cities. For whatever reason the demonic forces appeared to only be focusing on the ground war and were in no hurry to expand into new theaters of war. This was a fortunate boon for the various Christian kingdoms of Europe and the Iron Sultanate as they too could divert the majority of their forces to the ground war.
Dorian took several deep puffs from his pipe and exhaled as his eye caught something. “Best we send out an advisory warning.” He said as he motioned with his pipe to the southeast. “Don’t want any ships getting caught in that and grounding.”
Fadrique followed the direction and saw what had drawn Dorian’s attention. A massive dust storm was creeping along the African coast line towards Gibraltar. It was stretching easily a couple kilometers and Dorian’ warning was warranted. Such things were rare to extend into the sea but not unheard of, resulting in more than one ship becoming lost and unknowingly crashing into the African coast.
Fadrique sighed and went back to the door. Just opposite it on the left was a small box that contained a phone line to the central command bunker and a small telescope; both used by the rotating sentry’s that were normally stationed here.
“Operator.” He spoke into the phone receiver when Dorian’s next words would be the prelude to the worst defeat since the fall of Antioch.
“Bit strange to see them at this time of year.”
With a horrifying realization Fadrique dropped the receiver and grabbed the telescope. He rushed over to Dorian and held it to his eye as he began to scan the approaching dust storm. Even with the light of the moon he could barely pierce the sand storm. After a minute of frantic searching with no fruit he was about to put down the telescope when he saw several bright flashes.
“Get down!” was all he could get out before the entire side of the mountain exploded. -------------------
“Full speed ahead,” Ranga’s voice gurgled to the bridge crew, “maintain fire on the fortress.”
From the murk of the sandstorm came the prow of the Great Red Dragon; the first and currently only Dreadnought of the Hell Fleet followed by at least thirty smaller class ships and innumerable landing craft.
Like an ancient sea beast of legend with a warship fused to its back, the Great Red Dragon steamed from the dust storm straight for the Bay of Gibraltar; her thirteen 20in main guns raking the side of the mountain fortress in an unrelenting barrage. Soon the smaller ships, equal to frigates and destroyers added their own cannon fire to both the fortress and the waiting port below.
High Captain Ranga watched from the bridge as his plan reached its most critical stage. Until his fleet reached underneath the range of the crusader’s guns they were still at risk of being caught out in the open and torn to pieces.
It had taken thousands of sacrifice to seal the black pact with the demon lord Pazuzu and through it they had created to dust storm that had covered the heretic fleets approach. Even then Ranga had used all of his charisma and several quietly placed loyalists aboard the other ships to ensure they remained within the storm and did not pillage one of the many crusader convoy fleets they had passed; but now if they could take this stronghold the Mediterranean would be the domain of hell for the first time.
The waiting crusader ships outside the dock now scattered in all directions as the heretic fleet drew nearer. Within the port the numerous docked vessels were reacting to the attack in sheer panic rather than an organized effort as they dumped what cargo they had been offloading and rapidly drew anchor. Yet for all their speed it only further added to the chaos as they soon found themselves boxed in by the sheer number of crusader vessels still within the bay.
Ranga waved a dismissive hand towards the bottlenecked crusader fleet. “Hunt.” He spoke, and a deck corrupted deck hand nodded before exiting the bridge to a gangway circling the exterior of the vessel.
With a series of rapid flag motions, the deck hand relayed the High Captain’s orders and a portion of the heretic fleet broke off their attack on the fortress and targeted the crusader ships. Circling behind and recklessly in between their number were countless landing crafted filled to the brim with heretic marines. Soldiers of hell specifically outfitted with thick diving suits and heavy weaponry; these forces would be key to seizing the port and any crusader ship foolish enough to get close.
With some quiet pride Ranga watched the nearest crusader ship, the “Saint Mary” by her crude name paint, was surrounded by the landing ships as it finally cleared the backlog of vessels inside the bay. Hatches sprung open and dozens of grappling hooks shot out and latched to the decking of the Saint Mary as the heretic marines hoisted themselves aboard. Flashes of small arms fire could be seen on the deck as the ship’s crew mounted a desperate defense but were shrugged off by the heavy diving suits. The heretic marines retaliated in turn by unleashing their own weaponry of flaying knives, combat anchors, harpoon cannons, and other close range instruments of death as they quickly began taking control of the ship.
With a sudden burst of flame the demonic vessel to Ranga’s port erupted into flame as the Fortress guns finally began returning fire.
Doors of metal and stone slowly rolled open to reveal the inner cannons of the fortress but by then it was already too late. Ranga smiled as he heard the whistle of an 18in shell pass over him and splash harmlessly in the Great Red Dragon’s wake.
One by one heretic fleet sailed under the range of the fortress’s guns, continuing to unleash a hellstorm of cannon fire against the fortress. Large portions of the mountain gave way under the strain of fire and collapsed off the side in violent avalanches revealing portions of the inner network of tunnels connecting the various bunkers and gun emplacements.
At the port the first landing craft smashed, quite literally in some cases, against the piers and offloaded their compliment of marines who took to the slaughter of the faithful with great vigor and depravity. Several detachments of crusaders who had been waiting to board outbound transports charged to meet them and a fierce battle erupted along the entire port.
Once his ship was close enough to shore Ranga signaled for his own forces to offload and begin scaling the mountain side. Unlike the heavily armed marines, these forces were lighter and easily began climbing up the mountain to take control of the fortress interior.
Spider like heretics with too many arms and eyes ascended up the mountain slope with great speed as the rest of the fleet continued hammering the top of the mountain. Any enemy gun port that fired was immediately target by at least three ships together silencing the fortress entirely.
From several concealed hatches crusaders poured out on the mountain only to be overrun almost instantly as the heretics fought their way inside leaving a trail of mutilated corpses in their wake.
“Cease fire on fortress.” Ranga uttered through his diving mask.
The order was relayed again through flag signals and one by one the heretic fleet began to shift their fire towards the port city. To his annoyance one ship continued firing away at the mountain top causing another avalanche that crushed several of his strike teams before they could enter the interior fortress.
“Cease fire on fortress.” Ranga repeated with more force as he focused on the disobedient ship. As if sensing his displeasure the guns of the Great Red Dragon slowly began to move of their own accord and target the mutinous vessel.
Another more frantic set of flag signals were relayed but still the heretic vessel continued firing.
With an exasperated sigh Ranga shook his head in disgust.
“Ssssink them.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth did the mighty guns of the Great Red Dragon open up. At this close range demonicly forged or not, no ship could withstand that barrage and the disobedient heretic ship became nothing more than a barrier reef for the hungry fish.
“Execute any that come ashore.” Ranga said dismissively as he moved on to the next matter at hand. He could not tolerate his authority to be challenged at this point, not when the battle sat along a knife's edge. Once the fortress and port were secure there would be ample time for raiding and pillaging.
By now the marines had driven the crusaders back from the port into the city streets. Some were pulling back to the fortress while others manned whatever barricades they could throw up and fight street by street. The majority of the heretic fleet now moved into the harbor and unleashed their second wave.
Hundreds of bat like demons that had been chained to the sides of their vessels were now let loose. With wings that swallowed starlight and eyes as red as blood, these creatures took to the skies and descended upon the remaining crusaders.
Talon and fang tore through armor as the faithful were shattered by this new surprise attack. The lucky died on the spot, while the unlucky were carried off into the night and feasted upon along the rocky slopes surrounding the port.
With that the morale of the crusaders finally broke and those that remained broke rank and fled into the hills only to be hunted down by the demonic hordes for sport. The heretic marines by contrast stayed close to the shoreline and began to either pillage or slay the few remaining faithful who hid in the streets.
Scores of civilian were dragged screaming from their hiding places and led in chains aboard the waiting heretic ships. Runes of damnation were carved and burned into their flesh before they were tossed below deck to serve the heretic ships; by deeds of labor or as fuel for the dark machines.
High Captain Ranga stood at the prow of his ship and but kept eyes on the mountain top. He waited for what seemed an eternity before finally seeing the final scene of this great day.
From atop the Rock of Gibraltar a large banner was unfurled for the first time. It carried the symbol that in the year to come would plague the Atlantic, Baltic, and Indian Sea for generations to come and would bring fear unto any foolish faithful who looked upon it from across the waves.
The Flag of the Heretic Navy.