This post was inspired by a writing prompt in the Worldbuilding Community - Worldbuilding Prompt #931 - Navy
Enjoy !
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The island was just a rock, maybe five square miles. But the base on it stood defiant and most definitely fully operational. Massive plasma turrets pointed spaceward, anchored firmly in the bedrock.
The weapons and buildings glittered and shimmered slightly, the effect of the shields arching overhead. Those shields were powered by the kind of generators you could bury in a planet, an order of magnitude greater than those carried by the battleships orbiting far above.
High above, in the command battleship The Palace of Darhoo, Count Devaningsi stared coldly at Admiral Garall over the holotac display.
"We've lost a dozen Type 19 battleships and twice that many heavy cruisers to that one base. You know we have to take it to secure Allied Imperial control over Rapallin's World. But that one Reaver base is proving impossible to destroy. Do I have to report to IHQ that you have failed, admiral ?"
Admiral Garall held his breath for a count of three. Count Devaningsi was several ranks above him, and the slightest mistake or out of place word would be career-ending. Especially after the bloody debacle of yesterday's attempted assault.
"My Lord," he began, "That fort, as we have both seen, is highly resilient. It has resisted all our attacks and appears as strong as ever. But I have a plan that I believe will overcome it."
The Count pulled at a light grey sleeve of his uniform and raised an eyebrow, that one gesture conveying absolute cynicism.
Carrying on, Garall waved an officer forward. The man was wearing a purple-grey uniform, an unusual colour that would be unfamiliar to anyone else on the bridge. Even less familiar were the insignia adorning it; shoulder boards instead of the more usual epaulettes, and a mid-blue aiguillette hanging across the left hand side of his chest.
"This is Commodore Tarfoll of the Imperial Zrennian Navy. He will be leading a special taskforce against the fort shortly. Tell me Commodore, what do you have available ?"
Tarfoll saluted smartly, then reported, "Sirs, I have battleships Aroni, Yonnach and Blensar, together with my own command dreadnaught the IZS Majestic."
Turning on him sharply, Count Devaningsi was clearly displeased, almost insulted. "So a minor ally provides four doubtless outdated battleships and expects to succeed where the might of the Imperial navy has failed ? Is there anything I'm missing here ?"
Admiral Garall tried to get his thoughts in order, wondering if he was going to spend the rest of his life grading worn-out buttons from salvaged uniforms in a backwater commissary, when Commodore Tarfoll spoke up with a slight smile.
"Yes, My Lord. I believe you are. You'll see soon enough."
Without waiting for a reply, he saluted smartly, turned on his heel and marched out of the tense command bridge.
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It was later that day, and four great Mumak class transports descended ponderously through the humid atmosphere of Rapallin's World. They came in far enough away to be out of the field of fire of the fort's lethal heavy guns, then swept in skimming the rough ocean waves to use the curvature of the planet to get closer.
Finally, they settled into the water, using powerful thrusters to hold themselves half submerged.
Bow doors opened, and out of each, a battleship slowly emerged. These weren't the Type 19 battleships used by the Imperial Fleet. At first glance, they were a weird anachronism. Battleships floating on the water. Wet-navy battleships. Their armour was thicker by far than anything carried by a space battleship. They were heavily armed with four or five turrets each carrying two huge guns, and bristled with lesser weaponry.
Gathering into a line ahead formation, they started the slow journey towards the island fortress.
At a distance of two hundred miles, missiles started heading towards them from the island. They were batted aside by air sweeps in an almost casual display.
At a distance of forty miles, small guns from the fort started a desultory fire on them. Most of the shells and energy bolts were deflected by the battleships' shields, or bounced off their impenetrable armour.
Closing to ten miles, the island was visible as a dark grey silhouette against the ocean planet's lighter grey clouds. The four battle ships made a stately turn, one after the other, their line moving to run parallel to the island.
High above in orbit, everyone on the command bridge of the Palace of Darhoo watched in morbid fascination expecting the four ships, powerful as they were, to be blasted to oblivion by the fort's primary batteries.
Then realisation dawned. Those batteries were sited and angled to eliminate threats from space, which they did with terrifying efficiency. But they couldn't be traversed and trained low enough to deal with a threat coming from the sea. Likewise, the shields protected against threats from above. They didn't reach down to ground level.
The battleships fired, a salvo of twenty heavy shells screaming on an almost flat trajectory towards the island. For those in the fort, the noise was deafening, and that was just the sound of the guns firing at them. A few seconds later the shells landed, their explosive-filled warheads detonating against buildings and gun turrets, shredding everything nearby.
Twenty seconds later a second salvo followed, and then a third. There was no need for a fourth. The island was shrouded in fire and smoke, but sensors could tell that the rock had been scoured clean of every installation and living soul.
Back in orbit, a clipped voice which somehow carried a touch of satisfied humour sounded on the command bridge communicator.
"This is Commodore Tarfoll reporting that the objective has been eliminated. All in a day's work for the Imperial Zrennian Navy. That's the wet navy to you space boys."
