January 25, 1898
Busan – Defense Ridge
The cold wind swept over the ridgeline above Busan Bay as Captain Luis Graham peered through his field binoculars. Smoke already curled on the southern horizon. Pohang was under siege. Even from here, he could hear the distant rumble of cannons, like thunder rolling through the mountains.
He adjusted the focus with his gloved hands. The Russian landing craft were visible—barely—creeping in from the coast, escorted by cruisers.
"They've hit Pohang hard," Graham said to himself. "They'll be pushing north soon."
General Nam Kyung-jin of the Korean Imperial Army stood beside him. Clad in a heavy wool coat and a fur-lined cap, he said nothing at first.
"If Pohang falls," Graham added, lowering his binoculars, "Busan is next."
Nam's eyes stayed on the horizon. "Then we do not let it fall."
Behind them, the defensive ridge buzzed with activity. Arathian soldiers hauled crates of ammunition into newly dug trenches. Engineers bolted down heavy machine guns and mounted light artillery along the high ground. Korean infantry rotated in squads, reinforcing sections of the ridge, setting up telegraph lines, and checking sightlines.
It wasn't just preparation anymore.
It was anticipation.
"Do we have air support coming?" Nam asked.
Graham glanced toward the command tent, where signaln relayed dispatches from the fleet. "Strike Group Oga is on the way. They should be within range by sunrise."
Nam gave a single nod. "Then we hold until then."
—
Sea of Japan – Arathian Carrier Fleet
Commander Alexander Hart stood on the bridge of the VSS Lexington, the largest vessel in Strike Group Oga. The night sea stretched wide and black, only interrupted by the glow of their fleet's lanterns and signal lamps.
Below, aircraft crews prepared the first wave of biplanes and early monoplanes for launch. Their canvas wings rattled softly in the sea wind. The carrier's deck was alive with shouted commands and the clatter of tools.
"First wave ready for takeoff, Commander," his operations officer reported.
"Good. Have them scout the coastline near Pohang. If they spot Russian artillery, they are cleared to engage."
"Yes, sir."
Hart stepped out toward the rail. In the distance, the outline of destroyers cut through the waves, keeping pace. He knew that once they reached Korean waters, they wouldn't just be observers. They would be the difference between holding the line and losing it.
—
Pohang – Southern Outskirts
Artillery bood from the hills. Russian shells scread through the night, hamring Japanese and Korean positions along the southern edge of the city.
Smoke blanketed the skyline, rising from collapsed buildings and craters in the streets. Civilians had long since fled inland, but the soldiers stayed—dug into foxholes, behind sandbags, or stationed in half-destroyed houses.
Lieutenant Nakamura ducked behind a stone wall as debris flew past.
"Where are our reinforcents?" he shouted into his field radio.
"En route," ca the reply through static. "Korean and Arathian elents moving north from Busan. No estimated arrival yet."
He cursed under his breath, then glanced over the trench line. His troops were tired. Ammo was running low. The Russians were pressing harder by the hour.
Still, he raised his rifle.
They weren't done yet.
—
Washington, D.C. – White House War Room
President Matthew Hesh stood before a large wall map pinned with colored flags and thin strings marking known Russian positions and allied forces. The room was tense, crowded with officers and aides scribbling down notes from fresh telegrams.
Collins leaned in with the latest report from Busan. "Captain Graham confirms Russian shelling has started at Pohang. Defense Ridge is secure for now, but if they don't get support by morning…"
"I know," Hesh said. "They'll be overrun."
Admiral Rock's voice crackled through the telegraph station beside the table. "Strike Group Oga has launched the first wave. Aircraft are en route. We'll reach Korean waters by dawn."
Hesh crossed his arms. "Make sure they know. Pohang must hold."
A young courier entered the room holding a dispatch envelope. "Sir, telegram from General Bartlett in the Philippines. He's diverted additional troops from Luzon to reinforce Japan's western coast, should Russia try a flanking move."
Hesh nodded. "Good. We're not just fighting for Busan. This is the hinge point for the entire region."
—
St. Petersburg – Winter Palace
Tsar Nicholas II paced the length of his study, floor creaking under his polished boots.
Alexei stood by the fireplace, telegram in hand. "We've begun the second wave of shelling at Pohang. Our forces are pressing the southern line."
Nicholas didn't stop moving. "And Arathian reinforcents?"
"Still at sea. Carrier fleet expected by sunrise."
The Tsar scowled. "Then we strike now. Before they arrive."
"High Command is concerned about the toll on our artillery," Alexei warned. "We've been pushing the advance nonstop for nearly thirty hours—"
"Then push harder!" Nicholas snapped. "If Busan falls into their hands, we lose our chance to break through the peninsula."
He pointed toward the map nailed to the wall. "Crush Pohang. Then we deal with Busan."
—
Busan – Defense Ridge, Pre-Dawn
Flares lit the sky as artillery rumbled again to the south. The orange glow from burning villages near Pohang painted the horizon.
Captain Graham walked the ridge line, inspecting each position.
"Hold tight," he said to his n. "We just have to last until the sky lights up."
General Nam t him halfway. "Russian scouts spotted near the lower hills. They may try a flanking maneuver."
"I'll double the sentries on the east slope," Graham replied.
Suddenly, the sky flashed white.
An explosion rocked the ridge—one of the forward emplacents had been hit. Screams followed. dics rushed forward as smoke filled the trench line.
"They're probing already," Nam said.
Graham turned to the nearest runner. "Get word to Busan Command. Tell them we need fire support from the offshore cruisers. Now!"
The runner saluted and took off into the dark.
Then, above the chaos, they heard it—a low hum, growing louder by the second.
General Nam looked up. "That sound…?"
Graham smiled grimly. "Arathian aircraft."
—
Sea of Japan – Above Pohang
Arathian bombers and escort fighters broke through the clouds. The lead pilot of the formation locked eyes on the flashes of artillery below.
"Targets in sight," he said.
The first wave of bombs dropped.
Below, the Russians barely had ti to scatter before the ridge erupted in fire.
—
Washington, D.C. – War Room
A new ssage ca in through the radio.
Collins read it aloud.
"Arathian air units have reached Pohang. Engaged Russian positions. Bombing run successful."
The room exhaled.
Matthew didn't.
"It's only the first wave," he said. "Let's pray it's not the last."
He turned back to the map.
The Battle for Busan had just begun.
Reviews
All reviews (0)