Several hours passed. Our forces continued their methodical bombardment of the northern city. Columns of smoke rose above the shoreline. I wondered what could possibly be burning in a city made of ice.
"The sun is setting, Admiral. As your military adviser, I recommend calling off the attack. Waterbenders draw their strength from the moon, and tonight it's full," the old general said, breaking the silence. "We should wait it out and continue at dawn."
"I'm well aware of the problem... and I'm working on a solution. But you're right. We'll wait until dawn."
"Hmm. Is that really wise?" I interjected.
"What do you mean, Herald? Attacking waterbenders during a full moon is a very bad idea," Iroh said, surprised and, judging by his expression, somewhat indignant.
"I'm not suggesting we attack. Quite the opposite. We could even pull back a little and... continue the bombardment throughout the night. To heat a shot and launch it requires one firebender and a three-man catapult crew, none of whom would be participating in the assault anyway. The firebender can be replaced with oil and an ordinary torch, can't he?"
"Suppose so," Zhao frowned. "And?"
"How many waterbenders does it take—even at night during a full moon—to catch a red-hot projectile? Yes, waterbenders are stronger at night, but they're still human. They get tired and need rest. Instead, they'll spend the entire night running around the city and intercepting our little 'gifts.' Then, come morning..."
"Our troops will be facing exhausted, half-dead wrecks instead of rested and angry warriors." Zhao nodded slowly. "Interesting proposal. Until I solve the issue of the Moon, I believe I'll make use of it."
"Wait, Admiral!" one of the staff officers cut in. "If they managed to sneak up on us during the day, they'll have far more opportunities at night! The bombardment force will be exposed to enormous risk and will inevitably suffer losses."
"The projected losses are insignificant compared to the tactical advantage we'd gain. Besides, I'm sure Herald, who proposed this idea, and his squadron will do everything possible to minimize their own casualties, won't they, esteemed Chan? Since your forces won't be participating in the landing, it's only logical to use them for this task." The bastard smirked, and I had to exert noticeable effort to keep my face expressionless.
That self-important halfwit hadn't merely turned my own words against me—that would have been one thing. He was openly trying to hang me out to dry, turning the Herald into cannon fodder with a single sentence.
After all, there was a world of difference between an entire fleet conducting a bombardment—perhaps an inaccurate one, but so relentless that it barely gave the enemy a chance to poke their heads out of their trenches—and a mere ten ships firing instead. That was an entirely different situation, one whose consequences could prove far more unpleasant... for the attackers.
Still, two could play at that game.
"Don't shift responsibility onto others, Admiral," I remarked indifferently, raising my spyglass once more. "You were the one insisting this was your operation. Although..." I turned back to the others before anyone could get a word in edgewise, "if you're truly that eager to have someone else do your job for you, I have no objection whatsoever to taking command myself. In fact, if we were to view your proposal as a rather clumsy attempt to get rid of the observer assigned to you, it becomes entirely understandable."
"What?" Zhao rasped, his face twisting with outrage.
"Well, surely you'll agree that I'd look rather foolish if I allowed an obvious traitor to command the fleet," I said as though stating something entirely self-evident, in the same tone one might use to discuss the weather. "But you're not foolish enough to openly try to set up a representative of Lord Ozai—the man appointed to oversee the proper execution of his will—are you?"
The admiral's face turned crimson. His jaw tightened, and his fists clenched. The staff officers watching the exchange pressed themselves against the walls, striving to become as inconspicuous as possible. Even Iroh looked deeply concerned.
"Judging by your expression, the answer is 'no,' and all of this was merely an unfortunate joke," I continued provoking the man and grinding his pride into the dirt, while simultaneously reminding his subordinates of a rather important fact. Namely, that I wasn't some visiting commodore but a man with every right to make their great commander scrub latrines across the entire fleet with his tongue.
And now for the finishing touch:
"Or am I mistaken, and you insist on transferring command?"
Oh, Zhao insisted all right.
He insisted on wrapping his hands around my neck and squeezing until something cracked. The hatred radiating from him was even purer and brighter than that of the boy from the north whose accomplice I'd killed before his eyes. But Zhao hadn't earned his rank by accident. He mastered himself and, exhaling through gritted teeth, replied:
"Of course I meant nothing of the sort." His voice, hoarse with emotion, was barely short of a guttural growl. "A joke. Nothing more."
"That's what I thought, Admiral. Now then, how do you intend to organize the bombardment?"
Watching this arrogant man squirm and smooth over a "misunderstanding" in front of someone whose throat he sincerely wished to tear out was rather entertaining. Hell, the situation brought me a certain sadistic pleasure.
Probably not the healthiest sign, but… I didn't care.
Only one of us was leaving the North alive, and that had been obvious from the very beginning. The only question was how to eliminate a rival without drawing the Fire Lord's wrath upon myself.
(End of Chapter)
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