Beachhead

When the first Alliance ship was struck savagely, Varian let out a frustrated roar. He watched helplessly as the vessel split in two and slowly sank beneath the licking flames. It had been sunk by the cannons atop the dock watchtowers.

The battle continued, and the air reeked of gunpowder.

The Alliance and Blood Elf ships came under fierce bombardment. Healers hurried back and forth, doing everything they could for the wounded. Engineers carried supplies to repair the damaged vessels. They also had to do their utmost to avoid being struck by shells.

Fortunately, the shells could not stop the ships from drawing closer to shore. None of the sacrifices had been in vain, and the Dragonmaw Orcs had suffered even greater losses. Dragonmaw Orcs felled by cannon fire lay everywhere on the dock decks, either bleeding heavily from their wounds or already dead. From time to time, Proto-Dragons fell from the sky and crashed down upon them. Gryphons and Dragonhawks were battling for control of the skies.

Thick smoke blanketed the skies above Orgrimmar. Varian knew Vol'jin's forces had begun their assault as well. He said to the signalman, "Order all ships to advance at full speed. Garrosh's reinforcements for the docks have been cut off."

Landing was only a matter of time. Varian gripped a rope and steadied himself aboard the swaying warship, his eyes fixed on the distance. Once the docks fell, Garrosh would have nowhere to run. Victory was within reach.

Suddenly, horns sounded from the enemy camp on shore. The King of Stormwind looked up and saw countless winged black shapes flying out from behind the two watchtowers, like birds startled from a tree. But these creatures were not fleeing in every direction. Instead, they charged toward the fleet.

The enemy was preparing to attack?