Azur Lane: Generals Zero Hour

by Sopkanam

Summary:

Old enemies and new foes come together in an unholy union. Aged, but experienced generals unite with the admirals of the new world.

Chapter 1: Crazed Old Man in the Desert

Summary:

It begins.

Slamming a door open, a man stumble through. Tripping over fallen lab equipment and avoiding broken shards of flasks. He immediately goes to a turned over table. Papers, liquid, and dozens of strewn out materials clutter the floor.

 

He mutters expletives to himself.

 

“Formulas!” Rambling loudly he grips his hair with one open hand, “Where’s the formulas!”

 

Sounds of gunfire outside freezes him. Faster he searches and quickly he moves. Tearing through messy journals and disorganized scribbles. Eventually he finds what he is looking for in the pile and picks up the paper. Kissing it through his wrapped face then slapping it on a cleared table.

 

“Sir! Our warriors have fallen!” A radio blares nearby, “The enemy is attacking our command center!”

 

More calls and voices erupt from the other machinery in the room. Calling for a name which makes the receiver of such messages groan in frustration. Not that they are worrying him, more of annoyance and hinderance to his concertation.

 

“Shut up!” the crazed man yells, even if the radio operator cannot hear him, “Let me mix my toxins…”

 

Picking up flasks from the floor and gathering containers from a closet, he sets to work. Haphazardly putting his equipment together and reading the paper he found. Somehow, in a span of several minutes, all the lab equipment in the disheveled room was reorganized into a strange yet mish mash.

 

Pouring colored liquids into each flask the system begins. As burners warm up and mix. With no regard to his own safety or the sanctity of a laboratory, he whiffs each flask. Even as his nose twitches and eyes water. For beneath his concealed face is a creeping grin.

 

Finally, in his odd set of procedures, a new green substance is created. Pouring it inside a flask, he is in the process of putting a cap on top when banging on his door erupts.

 

“General!” Outside his door the fighting now inside the building, “The Devil’s Whore is here!”

 

Distant sound of a female voice shouts, “Who are you calling a whore?”

 

“Quick, ready yourselves,” the voice on the other side yells to his compatriots, “Our way is true!”

 

“Out of the way!”

 

The sounds of bones crushing and men screaming their last is muffled. Before he could turn around from his near completed work, the door is blasted open.

 

Walking inside is a yellow eyed pale skinned creature. A look of complete irritation as scorch marks and burns grace her complexion. Part of her clothes burned, revealing more of the slimy skin beneath.

 

“Ah,” he holds the flask close, concealing it from the intruder, “Hmm, good to the last drop.”

 

“Jeez, dude!” the woman spits on the floor, “You fanatics are crazy! I thought the cultists were weird, but how the hell did you guys get your hands on one of our mass productions?!”

 

The man doesn’t say as he listens to the woman ramble behind him. Letting the chemicals sit inside the flask, for a little bit.

 

“You actually destroyed the fleet I was supposed to bring, in order to convince you!” She throws her arms towards the window, “We’re in the middle of a desert! And you managed to do more damage to me then anything the humans have ever thrown at me! Man, you’re lucky bub, that I came here for a propo-”

 

“You will regret intruding on my experiments, she-demon!” He quickly turns around and throws the flask at the intruder, “Eheehehehehh!”

 

“What the,” she stands there and gets splashed by the green liquid, “Hey, this isn’t going to-”

 

Pausing, the intruder blinks and brings up the palms of her hands. Neck craning and limbs going stiff, she stares at herself then back at the man. Now convulsing with laughter as he watches his strange substance seep into the woman’s skin.

 

“Metal is only a temporary barrier against my toxins!” He laughs more, “I know what you are she-demon!”

 

She blinks at him and waits. Watching him laugh more until his wicked smile turns into one of confusion. Scratching his head, he tilts his head at the woman. Who still looks annoyed.

 

After a few more blinks she turns around and spits on the floor. The wad sinks into the ground.

 

“Observer Zero is right,” she shakes her head while drying the chemical from her hair with a yellow rag, “You are the craziest human to ever exist in any of the timelines.”

 

“Uhh…” the man’s jaw drops, “…You’re supposed to be dead.”

 

“Yeah, maybe, if I didn’t have a filtration system installed before coming here,” she sticks out her tongue, “Creating a chemical corrosive against people and metal. Worse yet, you made it against our own units. I thought that wasn’t possible.”

 

She pats her body, happy with her findings, “You really did scare me there for a moment! It was getting into my processing unit and everything! Good thing I got to you before those Azur people got here. Man, and this whole world would’ve been a complete loss if they figured out how to synthesize your expertise.”

 

Shut down by his failed chemical attack. The man simply stands there. Thinking, trying, and frankly surprised his head hasn’t been bashed in yet. Seeing his momentary pause and confusion, the woman rolls her eyes.

 

“Purifier is my name,” she folds her arms, “And I have a proposal for you, Doctor Thrax.”

 

---

 

Traveling across the sands, a tan camouflaged vehicle rumbles. Passing over rocks and gravel two occupants sit at the front. Concealed in a layer of robes, the one in the passenger seat fans her face, exhaling two times before reaching for a green canteen. Twisting off the cap with a pop, she pulls down her face scarf, letting light blond hair spill out.

 

Kronshtadt gulps down another swig of water. The heat and temperatures of the desert leads her to sweating profusely, even under the robes she and her blue haired counterpart wear. Who in turns, taps the flushed cruiser.

 

“Kron, remember to conserve. We’re four hours out from the nearest city.”

 

She gasps, lowering the canteen, “Belo, it is hot. It's too hot out here."

 

“Same, and that’s why I want you to save me some of it,” the driver is handed the canteen, taking a quick swig before giving it back, “I can’t believe he’s this far out in the Gobi Desert, I don’t know why anyone would live out here.”

 

“According to scant details I have about his childhood, he used to live here before migrating north,” Kron says, unwrapping more of the robe to show her face, “Strange, for someone who once served the Northern Parliament, why does no one know his actual name?”

 

“Files are kept sealed shut in my sister's office. Off limits," Her companion says, "Soyuz is the one who’s ‘friends’ with him. Never heard of him until last month.”

 

Skeptical, Kron shakes her head, “How is she friends with a man living in the middle of nowhere? I find it hard to believe.”

 

“I said ‘friends’. Quote on quote. ” Belo emphasizes, “You know how most of us were brought back in the motherland. How most of us were born in either labs or by lucky individuals who have enough affinity with the cubes.”

 

The white-haired woman nods and reminiscences, “Yes. When Comrade Commander brought us to being. I still remember when he greeted me.”

 

“Soyuz was different,” Belo gulps. The dryness in her throat is irritating her, “She didn’t appear near the coast.”

 

“This Deathstrike may have a part of it, I assume.” Kron hazards.

 

“No one knows really. Girls from around that time said she arrived the same time they came to.. Soyuz was here longer than any of us. Right after Avrora of course. Hence, why she was able to rise to the position she holds in the Kremlin.” Belo pauses to narrowly miss a pothole, “This is all word of mouth. I’m not sure if my information is accurate. Only what Rossiya and Ukraina told me.”

 

Kron goes for a folder hidden in a compartment in front of her. Waiting for a bump in the road to pass, she flips through the papers.

 

“And I thought Eagle Union Intelligence files were bad…” She exclaims, throwing a hand in the air, “This has literally nothing useful about him!”

 

“Unfortunate downside to info gathering,” Belo starts, “I was hoping Soyuz told you more about him. I’m hazarding a guess we both know as much as she does. If she is hiding anything, then it must be for us to discover. Of course, my sister, vague as always.”

 

“We’re not completely in the dark.” The white-haired lady assures, “I made sure to do some reading into this before we left home.”

 

“Going by different names, our people call it the Great Scourge,” The cruiser thumbs the papers back together, making sure the file is at least organized, “From the few official documents available and not burned in some dumpster fire, these ‘insurrections’ are worse then any cultist we’ve fought. They can jeopardize everything we worked hard to defend.”  

 

“The first one was so bad, it caused an international crisis,” Belo adds, eyes still remaining fixated on the road, slowing down for a passing herd of sheep, “Controlled almost all of central Eurasia. The situation so out of control even the Dragon Empery intervened.”

 

“Half the world's armies deployed, chemical weapons, tactical nuclear strikes and thousands dead,” Kron remembers reading the history, letting the conversation take her mind off the weather, “Heard they took out an aircraft carrier, with the Eagle Union's very own superweapons."

 

“Really?” Belo gawks, eyes still on the road, not sure what she’s hearing, "I thought that was propaganda."

 

"I wish I was sure, the media was heavily censored," Kron groans while wiping away more sweat, "It’s the reason why the Eagle Union girls are afraid of them, or what Murmansk says. I try to take her word for it since she’s not the type to be worried about such things.”

 

“I would, too, if a ragtag group of rebels can destroy a carrier without a navy.”

 

The conversation dies down. Having been with each other for the past few weeks. They had worked with each other for years ever since they arrived in the Parliament. Both hold important roles in their fleet yet at the same time being equals in regard to camaraderie. It helps with a lengthy overland trip like this, as she much prefers going by ocean – a sentiment driver agrees with.

 

“We’re almost there.” Belo states, Kron grunts, turning around and opening the flap to the back of the truck.

 

Filled with crates of supplies, it was apparently a gift to the contact they’re supposed to meet. Items only they can get from home. Something about this particular cargo is what they believe will be one of their major tickets to convince him to come with them. Although, not minding the cargo itself, Kron does wonder what six crates of vodka means to a mountain man in a desert.

 

“Here we are.”

 

Pulling her head out from the back, Kron looks through the windshield to see…

 

A shack on the side of a mountain. Noticing the steep pathway up, the kansen look at each other.

 

“Very humble."

 

Belo shrugs, her attention focused on a man walking towards them. Wearing a hood and wielding a wooden stick, all they can see is tanned brown skin. Weathered by exposure to the rural landscapes, they two are put on guard when they see his face concealed behind a black covering and cracked goggles. Hobbling towards them, the way he presents himself is a cautionary sign.

 

“Hello!” He calls out in their native tongue, surprising the two, “To think, Soyuz would send two of you out here.”

 

“How…” Kron's jaw drops low, “Wait, are you Deathstrike?”

 

He turns to her craning his neck, “Around here, I’m known as the ‘Old Mountain’. I don’t quite like having my old name thrown around so openly like that.”

 

Belo decides to cut to the chase, “How do you know we’re the ones Soyuz sent?”

 

“People with blue hair and fair skin never come this far into the desert or the mountains.” The man points out, straightening his back, “I have quite the reputation, only goats come to see me, with the occasional hooligan.”

 

Kron notices the pair of crosses near mounds of rocks nearby. Poking out further up the road are more mounds and crosses hidden behind bushes. She gulps, this time not because of the heat. 

 

“Now we know who we’re talking to…” She clears her throat, “Soyuz told you why we’re here?”

 

“Yes,” Deathstrike shakes his head, “My answer is no.”

 

Both women gawk at him.

 

“What.”

 

Belo is the first to recover, “Sir, we didn’t even-”

 

“And my answer is no,” He repeats adamantly, “I’m done being a general. I’m no longer Deathstrike. I am now just an old man.”

 

Kron is next, “The GLA is a threat to all nations. Reports have come saying the Sirens are supporting them! We need someone to help us wage the ground war against their followers. We need someone who knows the GLA better than us.”

 

“No, I’m old, and this new GLA may be different. It may not even be like the same one I once served. I’m no use to you…”

 

“You are,” Belo interjects, unsure of what else to say yet she continues, “Soyuz says you are the only one who can fight them. Or at least she believes you can help us. Help the Northern Parliament.”

 

“I’m a traitor in their eyes,” He explains, almost matter of factly, "I have no idea what Soyuz has told you, it doesn’t mean the Parliament forgives me. Many people haven't."

 

"And now the motherland calls for you, sir,” the blue haired battleship crosses her arms, unwilling to let the effort of traveling this far go to waste, "What is done is done."

 

“My answer remains no. You may come with me and stay the night before you go, but I refuse to return to that life. I’m happy being alone out here.”

 

He begins to leave, making the two girls go into a panic. Getting out of the truck they stumble then clamor after him.

 

Running out of ideas, the two look at each other and then at the truck. All they have is alcohol to convince the man, but Soyuz was explicit in her instructions. Only give it to him once he accepts. Not sure of what else to say, Kron remembers a piece of key information that can convince the old man.

 

“Thrax.”

 

He stops in his tracks.

 

“...What did you say?”

 

“Thrax,” Kron shouts more confidently, “He’s returned. And he’s leading them."

 

In a quick motion, the old general turns back around.

 

For a moment, he stands there. No movement, no words. Just silence. Unmoved by the heat or wind. Only the dying belching of the truck and his subsequent glance at the back of the vehicle.

 

He walks past the Kansen and straight to the truck.

 

"Sir?" Kron asks.

 

"Six crates…" He mumbles aloud, "Hah, this is going to be a long evening."

 

"There's a garage over the hill where you can park the truck," he lifts up his staff and points, "Help an old man."

 

Both women look at each other and at the truck. 

 

---

 

After parking the truck and unloading the contents, Deathstrike leads the girls to his shack. Upon unlatching the door and ushering them in, Belo peers around at the strangely spacey abode. Built from sandstone, metal, and wood. The makeshift roof outside contradicts the well-insulated ceiling and hanging interacts lights.

 

"For a shack," she muses, "You have quite the living space."

 

"If my years in the GLA have taught me anything, never trust what the naked eye sees." He proudly stands, putting away the last crate, "Come, come. I may not have much, but there is the living room."

 

He shows them where to go, "Do you girls want anything?"

 

"Water, please," The two say in unison.

 

The old mountain man laughs and heads to an open kitchen.

 

As they wait, the girls look around. Almost spartan, the interior is simple, with few pictures and odorous plants. Pots and hanging fixtures fill the air with green. While Kron catches a glimpse of two curved blades behind the front door, Belo finds a picture of a young Deathstrike wearing a uniform.

 

On his chest are Parliament medals.

 

Lingering no more, both quietly head to the 'living room consisting of an old box television, worn armchair, coffee table and torn green couch. Sitting themselves inside, Deathstrike pulls up the chair and leans over the table.

 

"Show me the documents," he holds a hand out towards the two, "I need all the details."

 

Perplexed, they stare at the gnarled hand.

 

"Belorussiya, one of four sisters. A close confidant to Soyuz." He keeps his hand extended, "Next to you is Kronshtadt, acting intelligence officer. I've dealt with sleazy secret agents and flimsy assassins for years. If you want my help, you better cough up the documents.”

 

Reaching into her side and taking out the documents, he takes them and immediately begins reading. Time goes on as the two drink their waters and wait. Exchanging glances and reading the room.

 

Eventually, Deathstrike reveals his face, pulling off his coverings. Wrinkled and tanned. Scars all over his cheeks and forehead. Life, while bothered, fresh on his face.

 

He sighs, rubbing hands, and glumly sets the papers down.

 

“Once, the GLA represented a violent outcry to the world around us. We have committed many crimes and I am not free from this. The GLA took me in, showed me a new cause. Hope for the abandoned, the lost, refusing to let the world exploit us. I raised my pupils to carry out its will…until I realized not everyone had the same vision as me.”

 

“No wonder all information on you is blotted out,” Kronshtadt frowns, "You became a terrorist."

 

"I do not regret fighting for the GLA. I only regret not restraining the damage we did." Deathstrike chuckles with a fake smile, "You would too, if the Northern Parliament left you for dead."

 

He looks on at a mantlepiece in the living room. A torn banner.

 

"Thrax was my former pupil. Bright, a little odd, but willing and innovative." He grimaces, "How wrong I was. To think, he's back. Of course, it wouldn't be so easy."

 

"The papers mention a name I never heard of. Who's Purifier?" He asks the pair.

 

"A Siren," Kron answers first, "According to informants, she was seen leaving Egyptian waters. We have reason to suspect her appearance is tied to the sudden dirty bombings and chemical leaks in Cairo. Two weeks after that-"

 

Belo continues, "Local authorities lost control and Siren attacks skyrocketed with reports of new gas like weapons being deployed against civilians."

 

The old man hums slowly. Disappearing back into the kitchen and returning with three glasses and a bottle of vodka. Without a word, he pours two cups and pushes them towards the Kansen. Before they can grab theirs, he looks at his glass and grabs the bottle. Downing half the content.

 

Belo clears her throat, “So you’ll come back with us?”

 

He stares past them towards the front door.

 

“Just give me anything you have lying around, I don’t care how old.”

Chapter 2: The Scholar and the Transport

Summary:

Life goes on, for many, the sinister machinations have not effected them.

Yet.

Through the lecture hall, papers are flipped, and pens scribble over crumpled papers. Students lined rows of elevated levels, all glued to their notes and the presentation in the front of the room. Dimmed lights keep attention squarely on the screen. The instructor is filled with vibrant life as he paces from one side of the slide to the other. Waiting for his students to catch up and jot down what he said.

 

Sensing most students caught up, he clears his throat for the next slide.

 

“…Dragon Empery soldiers marched into the capital to liberate the people. Reestablishing order to the city and effectively ending the False Revolution, or what the Eagle Union has labeled the Terror War.”

 

Pictures of a city in ruins but flags sporting the intact building and standing walls. Red flags with yellow stars on the corner. Men dressed in heavy, well-worn, and dirtied uniforms stood proudly while holding a captured banner.

 

“This was their flag.” With a laser pointer, he directs his pupils, “Three knives over a crescent positioned above a moon and supported by two curved blades. Different cells used their own version, but this was the most common for the organization.”

 

Extra seats were brought in, and more people joined the lecture hall as students not a part of his class came to watch the spectacle. The Professor knows this as he’s the only one on campus who taught such a course. Any professor could access records to learn about the war, none knew the conflict as well as him. Being one of the few with personal experience with individuals involved. Leaning against his desk and with the presentation over, he folds his arms and surveys the room.

 

“Now I know this concludes our overview of the Terror War. In the next few months, we will discuss the finer details of each phase, who was involved, and how the conflict evolved on a world stage.” He squints at the clock, “As we still have time, are there any questions you want to ask?”

 

A hand is raised in the middle row, “Terry?”

 

Terry closes his notes, having written most of what he needed to know, “Professor Liang, did you serve in the Terror War?”

 

The Professor shakes his head; the question is familiar to his ears, “No, actually. I was a young child when it ended. Faint memories with lingering effects in my childhood. My father and I left for the Union after the regime entered its second civil war.”

 

More hands rise, and he picks one. Closer to the front, “Angela?”

 

The young lady pulls out a page in her notepad, reading the question before asking, “How do you know so much about the war? I thought censorship was widespread in the… I’m sorry, is that insensitive?”

 

The Professor snorts, “Oh, no, no. It’s completely fine to ask such a question here. I’m not the CCP,” a phrase that earned several laughs from the students.

 

“And yes, it was quite censored back then. Even today with most people focused on the Siren War, there is a reason why it’s called the ‘Forgotten Conflict’ by some academic circles. Yet here I am, the inquisitive child asking too many questions. I would go back there as part of my studies before receiving my doctorate. For I am a professor of modern conflicts and history. It’s in my field of passion, after all.”

 

More hands extend, and he looks above everyone and towards the back. Upon seeing who it is, he pauses but still calls on them.

 

“And you miss?” His eyes shrink as recognition dawns, “M-Miss?”

 

“Lee,” the older woman’s lips curl, presumed by the students in a class to be one of the many people sitting in, “My question is simple. As I noticed in the material, you detail each general involved in the war. Do you happen to have a favorite one?”

 

Only heard by the ones in the front, the Professor gulps. Tugging on his collar and readjusting his tie. He knows the woman, and she most certainly knows him. Keeping to his professional mode, he goes to his desk and flips through one of his presentations. Showing the class his many files covering his topic.

 

Files listed topics on laser technology, tactical nuclear weapons, and anti-insurgency methods. He eventually lands atop a folder simply called, ‘generals.’ Before he clicks, he stops again. Handshaking as he realizes three other sets of eyes.

 

A million thoughts go through his mind as he looks up at the class again. Used to the massive attention from his lectures in his hall, it was customary for students to invite their friends - especially with current events. Among his usual visitors, a throng of people came midway through the presentation, particularly around the older lady who asked his recent question.

 

It’s hard to not notice the women with different sets of colored eyes. His students would’ve seen if not for how hot, stuffy, and crowded the room was. Not usually self conscious around his audience, the professor wonders quietly if they notice the sweat on his neck.

 

“There are plenty of famous figures I will cover in the next few lectures.” He continues, turning back on his presentation voice, “While many politicians played a crucial part in cooperation, these figures at home and abroad aided where they could. The true power lay in the military leaders in charge of the massive swaths of militaries. They would be the defining individuals who would set the course of modern politics.”

 

He opens up a presentation labeled ‘Generals.’

 

“These specific leaders were essential to ending the war and advanced military theory to new heights,” he points towards each group, “The Eagle Union, the European Union before it fractured, the Northern Parliament, and the one I know the best – the Dragon Empery.”

 

Speaking up, Miss Lee adds to her question, “And I assume your favorite is one of them?”

 

“Yes,” he grins wolfishly and proudly, “General Liang. Master of Arsenals and Scourge of Terror. She is my mother.”

 

Students in the class burst into a flurry of whispers and shocked expressions. Devolving all into a cacophony of noise before the Professor stops them. Some visitors who came compared the picture – seeing the details and similarities between the two. Students who have known him scribble in their notes, primarily for later research and the possibility of extra points in the future.

 

Besides Miss Lee, who maintains her gaze and smiles at the Professor as the academic sighs.

 

Pushing his glass, he looks at his class again, “Class dismissed. Remember to check your notes, and please study for next week’s quiz. We’ll review the build-up to the war and what led to all the events, so please read your syllabus. Thank you, everyone.”

 

Flighty and flurry, the students move about in a chaotic yet clean dispersion into the hallways. Few stay caught up to speak to the Professor, asking questions about future quizzes and material, and others move quickly to their following classes. As the last one leaves the hall, the Professor sits atop his desk and sees the remaining people in the room. Pulling out a rag and cleaning his glasses again, he puts them back on.

 

“Professor Liang,” the lady from earlier saunters to his desk. While wearing a tight pair of blue jeans and a tucked-in T-shirt. Her soft, bundled hair complements her near-flawless skin. The simple clothes and sunglasses she wears scarcely mitigate her beauty. Swaying her hips side to side as she takes each step down.

 

“Chen Hai, it’s been a-”

 

Her hands immediately went for his face, grabbing and pinching, “Awww!~Look at you! You’re so handsome!~.”

 

“Chen Hai-”

 

“Oh, the pictures do so little to show how much you’ve grown!” She dotes on him, tilting her head around him to get a better look, “Come over, girls, our small child is a chiseled scholar!”

 

One of the others, who stayed quiet while putting down the hood of her sweater jacket, popped up next to the Professor. Surprising him by poking his side.

 

“Time is worth its measure in gold,” the white-haired woman quotes a poem with a lackadaisical glare and pokes more, “Hmm, you’re too skinny.”

 

“Good to see you too, Hai Tien,” He half-turned around to see her, yet two pairs of arms reached his waist before he could react. Anchoring him to his spot and adding further confusion to who came to his lecture. 

 

“Hey! I thought they said you would eat better here!” One of them rubs their hands around his waist, “Ning-Hai! Little Liang’s so bony!”

 

She touches his midsection, and he flinches, “See! I can feel his ribcage!”

 

“Leave him alone, Ping Hai.” Her sibling, who is hugging the opposite end while slapping her sister’s hands away, “Knock it off, poking someone like that in public is rude. He’s not the same kid we knew, right?”

 

“Eheh, right, let’s go with that,” the Professor mumbles his best response, “Anyways, I’m so glad to see you girls again.”

 

“Twelve years,” Hai Tien states, the numbers already in her head, “Twelve years since we last saw you at the port.”

 

“Really?” The Professor puts his hands on both sisters, hugging him, rubbing their heads to get them off. An action he remembers as a youth, “Seeing you here now makes it feel like it was only yesterday.”

 

“Too long, the letters weren't sufficient,” Hai Tien mentions while dangling her legs off a lecture table, minding her business. Meanwhile, warning to be more comfortable, Chen Hai moves over to his desk, sitting in his chair, “I haven’t seen you since you promised me you would grow up and become stronger. I’m glad to see you kept your word…mostly.”

 

“Being a professor leaves me little room to uh,” his stomach growls again, earning him a stink eye look from Ning Hai and Ping Hai, “...yeah, grading papers and keeping to my studies. Too busy.”

 

Chen Hai shakes her head, lip curling into a slight frown, “You really do take after your father. If he was still here, I would scold him for leaving such a bad impression on you.”

 

“And you should be eating more. I can feel your rib cage!” Ping Hai chastises and then yelps as a hand taps the back of her head.

 

“Not helping, “Ning Hai scolds her sister, “Maybe he’s on a budget too.”

 

“Not with a suit like this!” She grabs a piece of his attire, “Y’know, this is the Eagle Union! You saw all those fast food restaurants out there! I counted five McManjuus since we came here!”

 

“Their food is awful,” Hai Tien chimes in, “He needs better quality food. Like back home.”

 

The Professor chuckles. Watching them bicker and talk reminds him so much of what he missed about his childhood. Above all, the foods they would cook when meal time came around. While there are places that resemble his nation’s cuisines to almost perfect replication, nothing was quite like the food he ate from the ship girls. Nothing in his new homeland could beat and the more he thought about it-

 

Gurgle.

 

The girls freeze and look at the Professor intently. Their eyes make him sweat again, and Chen Hai giggles at his stiff reaction.

 

“I think it’s time we get lunch, don’t you think, Professor Liang?”

 

He readjusts his tie, “Certainly, I know a place where we can go-”

 

“Actually,” Ning Hai interrupts him with a poke to his side, “We already had a place in mind.”

 

“Come on!” Ping Hai grabs his left arm while her sister latches to the right, “Our treat!”

 

“Really?” His schedule hits him and he tries to resist them, “But my classes!”

 

“Have been canceled for the day,” Chen Hai, already on her feet, holds her phone to his face, “Your Dean approved. The rest of the day will be spent with us.”

 

“I-er-wah, “the professor mumbles incessantly as quickly as everything clicks in his head, “No way this all worked out so conveniently,” Which brings him to his final conclusion, “This all reeks of my mother’s planning.”

 

“A month out, too,” Hai Tien looks up at him holding a pair of keys, “Van and everything. Although, I wished it wasn’t so crowded….”

 

---

 

Quickly shuffled out of the university, he relents and lets the sisters guide him to where they parked. A vehicle nestled close with its engines on and windows tinted. Students pass by watching the spectacle as most others go through their days’ none the wiser. The more careful observer would notice the odd features, most staring at them for their beauty. A typical day as the Professor’s stressful schedule is relieved.

 

His reservations aside, Professor Liang is glad to meet the old family. No matter how long it’s been since he’s seen them.

 

Ping Hai pushes him more, “Come on, slowpoke!”

 

“Hey, don’t rush me,” his cries are ignored, yet he persists. Slick black windows reflects off his face, “Your van does not look suspicious at all.”

 

“We know you’re an Eagle Unioner now. So we had to work with what we were given!” Ning Hai rolls her eyes, “Besides, while you follow us, we have someone more than willing to come with you!”

 

“Oh great,” He groans, giving complete control of his will to small humanized ships, “You couldn’t have brought anyone else. You need more girls back home to keep the country safe. Wait…is that-”

 

A lone woman stands alone and leaning against the front of the van. Wearing her dark hair in a bun, the Professor sees her clothes. Like Chen Hai and the others, she’s taken to a clean pair of jeans and a buttoned-up dress shirt barely containing her generous chest. For the Professor, he stops altogether as she turns towards him, matching the same surprised look on her face.

 

“Ting An?”

 

“Hey, Juju, I’m back!”

 

Stunned, Ting An reaches him and hugs him closely. A gesture he returns wholeheartedly. Not without the girls watching gleefully from behind him. Their eyes not escaping a different sign of affection.

 

“I’ll start the car,” Chen Hai opens the door. Not without giving a thumbs up to Ting An, who covers her face. 

 

As she gets inside, Ting An and the Professor’s attention focuses solely on one another. Both hugging each other. The latter remember how soft his girlfriend’s hugs are. Kissing each other briefly before pulling away. It would’ve been a more extended embrace without the cheering erupting from the van nearby.

 

“I thought you’d still be in Jakarta,” a smile forms, “You told me it would be six months.”

 

“I requested time off for you,” she confesses, lowering her head, “I heard they were coming here, and I didn’t want to miss the opportunity.”

 

“That explains how they know which one is my car,” he points to his own. Parked beside the van, “And how to get to my class.”

 

“Of course. I couldn’t let the dean give you away, and if I went with them, it would have spoiled the surprise,” Ting An giggles, “Sorry for not warning you.”

 

“I don’t mind, and thank you for this great surprise,” the Professor softly chuckles, then clears his throat, “I don't even know what's the special occasion.”

 

“They didn’t tell you?” she glances at the van, “Wow, she didn’t say ‘happy birthday.’”

 

“Birthday?” He reaches into his coat for a blue book, “Right, it’s today…I forgot.”

 

Ting An smiles expectedly, “I know. Straightforward date. On the other hand, how you remember my launch day is a miracle.”

 

“How could I not?” he chuckles, “You’re important to me too. It wouldn’t be right if I forgot you.”

 

Lovers are lost in each other, and their moment is broken up by a loud louse. Chen Hai honks the horn, and the two jump. Ping Hai sticks her head out the window, “I’m hungry! Quit it you love birds!”

 

Ning Hai whacks her on the head, and they roll up the window before Chen Hai rolls her side down. With one knowing smirk, she lowers her sunglasses. Ignoring the bickering ensuing in the back withstanding.

 

“I meant to say, ‘Happy Birthday,’ “Chen Hai looked between the two with glee, “Seeing you was such a surprise, being caught up in the moment as it is. You really have changed a lot since those early days.”

 

With one half-lidded expression, she stares down the man, “So, when are you going keep making this a secret, hmm?”

 

“...yeah,” The Professor rubs his neck while chuckling awkwardly with Ting An, “We started dating when I came across her in San Francisco after a conference. About two to three years now? We weren’t sure how the fleet would’ve taken it.”

 

“Mhmm, also, he actually thought I was from the Sakura Empire,” Ting An adds, pausing to feel her hand being held by said lover, “I-I came with Akashi during a supply run, and we came across each other in the local market.”

 

“You mean how I was being ‘scammed’ by the vendor? Or how I ended up arguing with you over how much it costs?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Ting An tips her head in mock judgment, “I still think you should’ve tried for something cheaper. Fish isn’t supposed to cost that much!”

 

“It was the best they offered, “He shrugs, more at himself than her, “Hey, if I had known there would’ve been better deals, I would’ve taken it.”

 

“And we both know it was a ripoff, Juju~.” She laughs, “Things happened…and we sort of…hit it off.”

 

“Trade and bartering with fish. Why am I surprised.” Hai Tien mumbles in the passenger seat, half-listening with her nose in a poetry book, “Mundane but quite cute.”

 

“Either way,” Chen Hai’s grin dims, “Oh, and Liang?”

 

Her hand reaches out and beckons him close. She gives him a foreboding look and mouths a few choice words. Between the two, tension surfaces before it disappears with Chen Hai’s nod.

 

“Right,” the Professor reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys. Or he tried until he realized the side where it’s held is the hand he’s having with Ting An, “Err, dear?”

 

“O-oh!” She lets go before linking her arm to his, squishing her breast beside him. A habit she’s used to when they’re alone. He leads her to his car and tries to ignore more obvious muffled cheers from the van.

 

Truthfully he is grateful to see the number of old friends and family. People helped shape him into the academic he strove to be in his youth. Although deep down, he knows what this means. They rarely leave the Dragon Empery due to how short-handed the nation is on kansen. His mind settles the revelation as he helps his girlfriend into his car.

 

Upon closing the door, Ting An whispers, “That look, what did she say?”

 

“News,” he swallows, looking at his rearview mirror, sweat on his face. Even though it is a cool weather evening, “Did you know?”

 

Ting An shakes her head quickly, “No, uh, I’m not always up to what the fleet is doing. But,” she pauses, looking around her, “What exactly?”

 

“My mother is here,” he gives her a very long glare, “She’s waiting for us at the restaurant, and Chen Hai warned me.”

 

The transport ship’s face drains of color, “The General… she’s here!?”

 

“I know she will tell me it’s for my birthday.” He rubs his chin, “But my mother always contacts me before making her visits. And it’s rare for her to leave the Dragon Empery with the war going on. Much less here.”

 

“Fair point yet,” She tries to find a better part of the situation, “It is your birthday. That can’t be all bad?”

 

Professor Liang shakes his head, “My mother is all about her business. I don’t know what she had to deal with while serving in the Red Army. All of it, she and Dad always kept quiet. If there is one thing I knew as a kid for certain - she doesn’t make discreet appearances without a big reason, which is usually not good.”

 

“I can imagine,” Ting An mumbles along with him, placing her hands on one of his, “Our fleet came with Harbin, so it adds up.”

 

“Harbin?” The name not being familiar to him, “New ship? I haven’t heard of her yet.”

 

“Yes, she’s the acting bodyguard for the General. A mighty warrior,” she explains reluctantly. “She is new. And I’m sorry, I…I can’t exactly tell you.”

 

“I know. State secrets. I’m used to it,” He assures her. Kansen themselves aren’t strictly secret nor widely talked about. His only recollection of the name ‘Harbin’ is a city, not an uncommon way to name ships. The more he thinks, the more he begins to spiral into speculation. A staircase which he gets pulled out of by Ting An’s words of encouragement-

 

“Dear, whatever happens, know I’m here with you, okay?” She gently strokes his arm, “We all are. Chen Hai and the others.”

 

“Yeah,” The Professor tries to ease his worry. The soothing voice of his girlfriend half-works, “I just when she shows up like this, I always get worried. My mother never arrives without warning, and knowing she has a bodyguard with her-”

 

He clicks the key into the ignition. The Professor recalls the news in the past few days. An attack in Cairo. Bombings throughout Eastern Europa. Calls from his colleagues in the east warning him about a significant change in the Siren War.

 

Yet it is clear.

 

“-something big is happening.” He starts the car, “And we’re going to need all of Azur Lane for this.”

 

The news he had to shove into the back of his mind as the most concerning thing for him right now was explaining his relationship with a kansen to his mother.

 

‘She’s going to kill me,’ he thinks as he squeezes Ting An’s hand. 

Chapter 3: Old Generals and Land Affairs

Summary:

Siren continue with their plans, but humanity does too.

Machines operate on a complicated set of parts and systems. A common understanding among the engineers, this group of trained individuals understood this. They knew this equipment well and slowly calibrated, operated, and counted. Quickly - bursts of energy emerge - and cut the air. 

 

“Target sighted.” 

 

“Defense laser system online.” 

 

“This will be fun.” 

 

“Crusader Tank responding.” 

 

"Yee-haw!"

 

Similar messages echo through the communication lines in methodical habit. Various ranks murder then silence themselves as their weapons charge for the next volley. Overtime, the habit of chatter mesh under the hail dropping down on their hulls. Reflecting blue hues and white droplets, sizzling plasma dances along the carefully fortified lines. 

 

It began as a reconquest and one simple call to his old radio.

 

“The time has come."

 

When the former local commander of the GLA heard the call of reformation, the order was delivered. What was once part of Syria, now a destabilized zone, had exchanged hands several times between GLA forces and local authorities before the Eagle Union and their allies strolled in to administrate the chaos. Local resistance evaporated the moment the last GLA leadership vanished - throwing off their weapons and reabsorbing with their people. However, this local commander forever remained loyal, waiting for the day to reform his men. 

 

Against his expectations of a defiant, angry animal, he instead received an entirely unexpected beast. If he could see them, the men he brought back cower behind rocks and dug pits for safety. 

 

Gone was the general’s delusion of a strong fist rising above of the masses, leading them to vapid victory. He thought his banner was enough to breathe resistance into life. Bolstered by two hundred able bodies and successfully taking an abandoned depot, he had enough to begin a large operation. Unfortunately, since he is unnamed, the efforts were squandered when Eagle Union forces operating upgraded laser technology, strolled right into his base. 

 

Without the greater GLA to provide a proper network of tunnels and espionage, his cover was blown the moment the rally was sent. A pity for a commander who was barely an officer during the waning days of his once powerful organization. Furthermore, since the ashes of his uniform lay in a pile amid the now panicked broken base. Wind would pick up pieces of his feeble form to better less brash places.  

 

The Eagle Union flattened their positions. They arrayed themselves in a crescent line in a carefully planned technological death box. Deeply contrasting the broken pieces of haphazard fighters and scared warriors. The newly reformed GLA cell breaks ranks and melts into the rural lands. 

 

Purifier tastes the disappointment of a failed college thesis after a day’s worth of effort. Bitter, filled with spite, and half-assed. 

 

“This blows! You said these guys we're supposed to be a ‘threat’ to Azur Lane. They can't even survive basic human resources, it's swatting flies!” The voice screams in encrypted shrills, bewildered faces of gaunt and terrified men. The Siren Arbiter shook off the one clutching her leg, eventually kicking the bearded man. 

 

The terrorist went flying through the air and one accurate shot converted him into dust in the wind. Purifier, for all the different timelines, registered a hint of remorse. 

 

“Wow. It's really sad out here.” 

 

“You received your orders,” the comms echo in her ear, “Their resurgence is their priority, not ours. Even if certain cells fail, they are merely obstacles to allow more important forces to emerge. Stronger insurgents will take the place of the failures, bringing refined success. Observe the battle and gather the intel needed.`` 

 

“Can I at least do something?” Purifier waits impatiently. When not hearing Observer's voice, she shrugs, “Ugh, fine I'll follow the protocols. Yeesh. I'll do the one thing you sent me out here for. ” 

 

Without delay and need of reply, the other end cut off. Frustrating Purifier to no end and making her question recruiting the crazy funky gas man. Wrecking two filters was definitely not worth the pain of watching this play out. 

 

“They’re absolutely worthless!” She points at one of the runners fleeing the attacks. Switching to their local dialects she yells at them in their native tongue, “You there! Stop it! Hey!”

 

She lunges for the man with one hand, the annoyed Siren holds him by the collar of his shirt. The man, apparently without any shoes screams for his life. 

 

“Ow, ow! Okay, okay I will work!” He grasps the handle of his pickaxe yet drops it. Pathetically, there goes his only chance to fight back, “Do not hurt me!” 

 

The Arbiter rolled her eyes, “Silence, human! I need answers.” She points at the blackened ashes of machines and dying men, “Where’s your general?” 

 

She sniffs the air, eyes immediately look down to see what she stepped in. It was the resurgent GLA 'general’s ashes, and she confirmed this by the hat laying to the side. 

 

“Ugh, ew.” She drops the man. Now lifting her leg and wiping the dead man's remains from her legs, “Go find another cell. Okay, second part of the plan. Tell everyone you know, your mother, sister, dog whatever. The Doctor returns. Got it?” 

 

The man stares with his mouth ajar. He heard the rumors of terrifying spirits rising from the waters. Never did he think he'd meet one of them here. Myths brought to life, the djinn speaks to him so…roughly…in his own mother tongue. 

 

“Human? Hey!”

 

Nodding to the threat and picking up his tool, the man stumbles away, constantly throwing eyes back at the yellow-eyed woman. He will carry out it's will. Scattering farther than his other fallen brothers, even if he means he'll die from exhaustion. The news must be passed on. 

 

Purifier pinches her nose, “This timeline is such a mess.” 

 

---

Far away, deep within Eagle Union lands, there stands in a half lit room. Surrounding the walls are consoles humming with processors. 

 

The General looked across the table. 

 

“To start over,” his wrinkles shaped, scars move around his lip and under the eyes, “What's this old hag doing on American soil?” 

 

“Non-military and unrelated to Dragon Empery official business, sir.” Pink hair contrasts the dark room, “According to my contacts, she's here for family matters. They're quite trustworthy so I trust their intel.” 

 

This old man blinks away, rubbing his chin continuously over the stub of recently shaved hair. Pictures warp and wobble between his fingers. Packaged firmly in plastic covers the carefully prepared images smell of sea water. He studied them momentarily, nodding attentively and knowingly. Pivoting to his left the General cares more about the table’s other contents. 

 

He’s aware of the woman, a kansen, standing at attention. There’s a few in the military he trusts now, save for a handful from his old days. This kansen is one he chose to trust after meeting her during a summit in Europe. She was on the shorter side compared to the battleships he met during his brief stays in New York. It is the woman’s sharp mind and organized thoughts that led him to request her aid from time to time, even if it met straining what good will he had left with the Pentagon. 

 

Higher up opinion on their kind is mixed, with some viewing them simply as tools while others realizing the impact of their creations. Negative opinion was only directed towards the Pentagon’s inability to fully control them or create contingencies. They were always trying to find ways to keep them efficient yet hamstrung, if only their government wasn’t already an indecisive mess playing with the defense budget. 

 

As a tank general from the Terror War, the General welcomed them unlike most of the older officers. Angry, displaced few who lambasted him for siding with the ‘squids’ over their own procurement. To him, it took an idiot to forget the bigger picture of the war, it was on the open blue not the solid soil. Kansen are here and will remain their lynchpin in war, even if it means his way of war recedes into the annals of history. 

 

“Alrighty, then I shouldn't be so worried.” He cracked a grin, “Make sure my son keeps one eye on them, Memphis.”

 

He hums and snaps his fingers, “Also, what's the status on your new equipment? Did you girls get to try them?” 

 

“Err,” Memphis furrows a brow, unsure of the General's words, “I don't know what you're referring to, air.”

 

“Townes’ old toys. Laser systems from back in the day to give extra ‘precision firepower’ if he was still alive to say. Sent several models for testing before we issue them to the rest.” It is the General's turn to furrow, "My men should've shipped them out to you months ago. You don't know?” 

 

“No, my first time hearing about it.” She answered quickly, “I believe the information would've passed directly to your- I mean the Commander and his secretary.”

 

“I thought you're his secretary.” 

 

She shook her head, “Not when I'm away from the base on other matters. Last I checked, his recent secretary should be his girlf-” 

 

Memphis’ eyes expanded and dropped the clipboard in her grasp. Covering her mouth at the grave coat of the General staring daggers at her. 

 

“Girlfriend?” The General snorts, “Oh, this is going to be rich…” 

 

“I, uh.” Memphis couldn't remove her hands, “Shit.” 

 

“Spill it, Memph.” The old man chuckles, bending down for the clipboard. He unwrinkled the papers and passes it back to the red glowing face of Memphis. 

 

Although an aged officer, far from the frontlines, the General remains sharp in his skills of discernment. Somehow the old man possesses ample helpings of forbidden knowledge of the youth. Combine that with the current situation, all he needs is four words. He folds his arms, tasting his lips and uttering the worst phrase, “As the youngins say, ‘spill the tea, sister.’”

 

“And that’s all I need to hear so you don’t ever say that again, sir,” She sighs, rubbing both temples of any potential headache, “The Royal Navy kansen…they sent her over as a bodyguard in detail and cooperation with their forces. I'm not sure about the details, but one thing led to another and rumors have it they are together.” 

 

The General laughs, a deep bellowing that fills the room. “He did it? Finally! My boy finally found a woman! Did he seriously think he could get away without telling me?” 

 

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know as much.” Memphis gulps at the sudden glare. She knows it's not towards her but she can’t help the collateral of her officer’s actions. Silently cursing herself for being so invested in their relationship. 

 

“Woah, back up,” He clears his throat, “She's a kansen?” 

 

“Yes, sir?” 

 

The General’s demeanor shirts dramatically then thoughtfully, then into a questionable mix Memphis could not interpret. His thoughts turn into a jumble of joy and worry. He knew of the kansen project back in his prime years in the Army, when he used to have a budget rivaling any Eagle Union billionaire. All he understood was that the kansen were powerful women. 

 

War machines given what any new tanker could dream of in their barracks at night. Sure, it would replace his soldiers, men who weathered the worse the terrorists could throw. To much of his staff's surprise, he welcomed the Navy’s new addition. Notwithstanding their fair beauty and dubious choice of attire. Practically speaking, this kept his men's morale up, even after they were miserably downsized for the ‘squids’. 

 

They needed a boost after devastating losses during the war. A war where Eagle Unioners still mourn for their dead. Past or present, the general focused on one constant question emerging in his headspace of tanks and artillery. And Memphis is scared. 

 

“Sir?” She tries for his attention, “General?” 

 

He faces her. Grabbing her shoulders and eliciting a quiet ‘eep’ from the young woman. She didn't believe he would hurt him but the brief memory of her life flashes before her eyes. Arriving at the docks, greeting her fellow kansen, and seeing a kind officer give her a hand. Those were the days-

 

In turn, Memphis shot back to reality. The General's gnarled face of wrinkles morphs into pure joyful curiosity and it worries her. Rocking her world with blunt care:

 

“Can kansen give birth?” 

 

“Wh-what?” 

 

“Can you fuck?” 

 

“I-I don't understand-” 

 

“Memphis.” 

 

He closes in on her face. 

 

“Are those boobs for show or can they actually feed my future grandkids?” 

 

Dazed, spinning, and trying hard to not run away in hot embarrassment, Memphis purses her lips. Her mind processes the questions too quickly for sensibility, too harshly for sanity. Going by the turn of the tide, she needs to get this man back on track. 

 

The General points to his face, “I'm old, woman. I served Uncle Sam longer than Jack damn Vessey. I've known six different presidents, fought in three wars, and had one child. My son, who I love more than my country, finally decided to find a woman after years of poking, prodding, and quite frankly begging the boy. I'm not getting any younger, and if there's one thing I can do for my late wife - is make sure our workaholic spawn gets some, you hear?” 

 

Memphis gulps, “Yes, sir. I-I think.” 

 

“You know a lot about me, Miss Memphis.” He lets go, finally giving her time to think. “Fifty years. I have been in this man’s Army for fifty years. Humor me for a little, young lady.” 

 

“Of course,” she didn’t know what else to do besides gulp again, “The Commander is busy, sir. Maybe after the war?” 

 

“Same excuses from that boy, ma’am.” He grimaces, “He would always say, ‘I can wait until after the war’, he said that when I came home after the GLA was stamped out. And again after he graduated the academy, then when he became supreme commander of the Pacific, and the Atlantic - point is: I can’t keep waiting, girl.” 

 

The general buries his head in his hands, rubbing his face roughly while groaning loudly. Surprisingly, Memphis was used to the General exploding into a random tirade, usually about how land warfare is no longer relevant or how Congress keeps cutting his budget in favor of the Navy. She doesn’t mind, it reminds her of the Commander, who would experience a subdued version of the out loud expression the General gives. 

 

Like father, like son.

 

However, she never heard a tirade like this before-

 

“Ugh, let’s get back into business before I lose more hair to this.” The General grasps the back of the chair he was leaning on, “Besides the shipment, is my trip to the base still underway? Nothing else for me to worry about?” 

 

“No, sir. Unless you want to begin discussion on the situation in Syria and Alaska.” 

 

The General shook his head, “No, I’m already up to speed on Syria. The Royals and Orthodoxy got to me before you did. Alaska…hmm, how much is there?” 

 

Memphis lifted the handbag she had slung over her shoulder. Her fingers deftly flips open the contents of heavy folders flowing with papers. 

 

“Ah, let's save that for later,” the old man waves it off, “Skip to the last thing on the list, the itinerary for my trip.” 

 

“Certainly, hang on.” Memphis returns to her professional stance, clearing her throat before going over her clipboard, “The fleet is aware of your arrival. Enterprise will be your escort to the base while two kansen at port will receive you. Right now, we have New Jersey and Brooklyn will show you around.” 

 

“Huh, what about my boy?” The General asks, the recount of the itinerary clashes with his memory, “I thought he’d be meeting me first?” 

 

“Certainly, this is officially speaking, sir. Technically he’s supposed to be off base as a fleet commander leading operations in the Pacific.” 

 

“Ah, right.” The General rolls his eyes. He remembered correctly, only the wrong thing, “Go ahead, I’m still listening.” 

 

Given the clear, Memphis continues: “You will be given a tour around the base, our facilities and maybe meeting a few of available kansen if you so choose. From that point forward, there is a dinner arranged immediately with the base commander and a ball arranged by kansen leadership. After that, your schedule is a series of joint exercises between the fleet and your automated armor.” 

 

Nodding his head, the old man rubs his chin, “Gotcha, I’ll make sure the shipment was sent. You girls won’t be able to test properly without it. Townes may be gone, but he had the right idea of going for pretty lights and those strange robots he was experimenting with. I sure hope you girls can last against my hardware, Miss Memphis.” 

 

“I assure you, sir.” Memphis flips her clipboard back, lowering it to her side, “We can handle what you throw at us.”

 

“I like that,” he stares at the table again, “If the GLA really are coming back, we need you girls to combat them. I assume you’ve done your research on them.” 

 

“Certainly, at least some of us have.” Memphis recalls the meetings she held with Enterprise and Essex, the aircraft carrier kansen who first heard of the news in the Middle East. 

 

While she’s not one for politicking or world events not related to the Siren War. Still, rumors trickle down from their allies, mainly the Royal Navy, it wasn’t as much of a surprise when news broke out. Gas attacks along the Mediterranean and sightings of Sirens assisting rebel humans in overthrowing their local governments. World affairs are not specifically her purview, yet Sirens are always her priority. 

 

Terrorists or Sirens, they are threats to humanity. 

 

“Good. We'll review later, I need a break before opening this can of worms, ” He pats the woman’s shoulder and turns around checking the clock, “You’re dismissed, I’ll like to see you here tomorrow, same time, to go over what you girls found in Alaska.” 

 

“Yes, sir.” Memphis pauses with a salute, “Thank you for your time, General Ironside.” 

 

The General chuckles and puts on his cap, a gesture likened to another person Memphis knew. His exit was brief and quiet, a large contrast to Ironside’s up front nature. Her ears were still ringing from the yelling being so close to her. This served to keep her awake longer than the caffeine she downed before entering this room. Every meeting with the General was always a wonder to behold. 

 

Before leaving, Memphis puts one free hand on her breasts. The General's odd raging about his age did mention a direct referral to her own bounty. Strangely enough, she holds her head up high and considers the acknowledgement a compliment. Even if he asked if she can nurse a child with them, a question she was also curious about. 

 

“I should ask the others…” she thought allowed, she readjusts the tie hanging over her chest. “No, they’re not just for show.”

Chapter 4: Rallying another Crescent Moon

Summary:

Deathstrike begins his task as Belorussiya and Kronstadt assist him.

Deathstrike picks up the rifle. Bolt action, rusted on the side with dried dirt caked on the handle. He proceeds to dismantle it completely. Taking each piece with care and precision, like a sniper would with its target, and swiftly fix the parts together. Over and over again, he would repeat the action until a bump to the truck forced him to pause. 

 

He blinks underneath his covered face. 

 

“Sorry. Pothole. Usual.” Kronstadt peeks her head through the curtain. The old man nods and returns to his task. Never minding the pause to his hobby as he continues to inspect each weapon at his disposal. 

 

The driver, Belorussiya chugs on a canteen before putting both hands back on the wheel, “How is he?” 

 

“Doing okayish,” Kronstadt settles in her seat, “Can't believe we're bringing a known terrorist back with us.” 

 

“Sure, I understand your worries.” Belo agrees, “But there's a reason why my sister trusts him. I trust her judgment even if it's leaving me a bit…uneasy.”

 

“Yeah, you surprise me, what makes you think he's okay? Kronstadt says in a low enough tone not to alert him. 

 

“They had a spy, very high up in their organization.” Belorussiya recalls the information, scrounging for details while driving, “It was a major turn in the tides.” 

 

As the driver, she stops to focus on the road ahead. Gone was the desert and in its place a wide expanse of plains. Distant mounds are separated by the flat staple of the ancient Mongolian homeland, one of their only safe passages back to the Northern Parliament while avoiding the border guards of their own home and that of the Dragon Empery. 

 

They are safeguarding a former leader of a terrorist organization to his new base of operations. 

 

“There were pictures once. None of them matched this guy’s description.” The gears turn again in Belo’s head, “Wait-”

 

“I can answer that.”

 

A laughter roars, shocking the two back into a yelp of surprise. The old General sticks his head between them, almost receiving a hit from Kronstadt out of reflex. To his glee, Belorussiya intercepts the attack before it lands. Unsure that the elderly man can handle even a light hit from them. He didn’t care nevertheless, only glad he could meet someone who wasn’t trying to kill him. 

 

“I was the turncoat. Gave nations all they needed to fight back. I guess that's why your sister is bringing me back.”

 

“I knew you’re not Mohmar!” Kronstadt blurts out. The information connects the mix of information in her head, “We have pictures and everything down to interviews and audio. None of it matches you or even looks like you!” 

 

Her comrade blinks back, hiding a smile at finally getting the information she wanted, “Why didn't you say anything before?!”

 

“I read the records like you.” Belorussiya blinks back a furrowing brow. “Hey, you could’ve said something.” 

 

Kronstadt shrugs, “I really didn’t know how to bring it up and I really wanted water.” 

 

“The desert is never kind to the uninitiated, hah. '' Deathstrike wags his finger, “Really, we’re all united against a common foe. You should’ve asked me.” 

 

“And here we are,” Belo chimes in, “Since you seem to understand this more than us, we’re only trying to clarify information…I wasn’t sure if Deathstrike was a moniker taken over by another crazy leader. The other nations made sure the Mohmar Deathstrike died, especially by the heavy Eagle Union documentation for propaganda. As much as I don't believe a lot of their sensationalism...we confirmed his body."  

 

“Doesn’t surprise me the imperialists were so gung-ho on his death. My death. Hah!” He shakes his head, trying not to burst into grim giggles, “Ah, that pudgy man. Of course not, he was my stand in taking on my likeness.” 

 

The two women share the same surprise. 

 

Deathstrike bellows again, cackling from the back before coughing under his wrapped face, “You’ve seen my face. There's no possible way the GLA would've followed a man like me if they knew who I was. All the leaders with an ounce of reason knew this, so we crafted a public figure with all my power. Kassad was supposed to be a candidate but he constantly ignored our efforts of cooperation and preferred to undermine our authority. Juhziz refused to speak to anyone outside his own cell and he paid for it with his stupid explosive recklessness. That next one was the chemical doctor, but Thrax was never supposed to be an option. Lastly, we turned to the best possible possible, Mohmar, unafraid of the public and emboldened by the loss of the Eagle Union Mediterranean Fleet, he rose to the occasion.” 

 

The women flinch, not realizing he snorted in amusement. 

 

“We were lucky we shared the same name. Who knew? I was Mohmar, he was Mohmar. It was fitting and funny once.” 

 

Silence came to the truck. There was plenty known about the Eagle Union’s loss of an entire naval fleet in Europa. It was what led to them completely retreating to their own waters and the resurgence of the Iron Blood. These facts laid bare, Kronstadt presses further for answers. 

 

“So wait, let me get this straight.” She turns her head for a better view of the man, “You made him your puppet.”

 

“Of course. Although, I would've used a better nicer sounding term like 'field marshal' of a sort, but yes. I once argued I should become their ‘general secretary’ of the people to make it match. Hah!” He shrugs, memory as fuzzy as the windshield of their vehicle, “We weren't unified like you would think. I may have had a lot of influence. Yet I'm a Parliamentarian at heart from a bygone era, many of us didn't trust one another, but we did agree on the cause.” 

 

He blurts out a guffaw making the two more weary. 

 

Both Parliamentarians understood, while Soyuz was technically their main leader, plenty of the girls operated semi-independently towards the same goals. While Kron was chewing on the information of other possible ring leaders, Belorossiya followed suit in the shrugging. What else can she say? Very little survived public records and she wasn't around when it happened. 

 

As exhilarating for Belo to revel in this intel, holes in their database were being filled in and this scares her.

 

“And that's how you escaped Dragon Empery trials.” Kronstadt concludes her thoughts and voices it, “You gained amnesty in exchange for your piece of land in the Gobi.” 

 

“Looks like that on the surface, yes?” Deathstrike teases, “I would let you assume that.” 

 

“Public reason,” the blue haired woman takes a guess, “Behind the table, because you helped so much, and not to piss off those under you, they quietly let you disarm and disband.” 

 

Her eyes briefly go towards the crates, “It's how you still kept all these munitions and parts.” 

 

“Ah, here's a clever one.” Deathstrike compliments her, pleased with the kansen, “The GLA was nothing anymore. Only stragglers grasping for straws in a world which clearly hated them. My men were tired, the few reasonable ones who fled Thrax’s stupid ambitions. I wanted to make sure they went home but-” 

 

“Mohmar and his followers would be the scapegoats,” Belorossiya shakes her head, seeing the weathered man in a new light, “No loose ends, no blame, you fled a free man.” 

 

Freedom. The word echoes in Deathstrike’s head. It was spoken to him in every language he’s ever heard. Whether it was in his mother tongue of the Northern Parliament or the dialects originating from any of his subordinates. A word usually used by his former enemies found in the Eagle Union. It tastes bittersweet. 

 

“You are wrong to think this was good for me,” he sighs, “Nothing went well for any of us. Most my men were disheartened and tried to form their own militias. After putting down two upstarts, I made sure I stripped the rest of their weapons and forced them into hiding. Still...many would operate before they were snuffed out by the westerners and Dragon Empery's agents. In the end, you have nothing but bitter men like me.” 

 

Both women stare at each other, Kronstadt speaks, “I don’t know, you have your own space. You’re men kept their lives. You seem comfortable.” 

 

Deathstrike reattaches the last piece of his rifle and shoulders it. He kneels closer to the front of the truck, both to see the road and to speak clearly instead of raising his voice above the engine. 

 

“When I gave the information on the GLA, I lost more then I gained.” He licks his lips. Dry. “Charged in court and stripped of my power, the west marked me an outcast, the east saw me as a tolerated insect. And only the nomads see me as a friend. My homeland, for as brutal as they come, gave me the worst punishment - banishment.” 

 

Shaking his head, he sighs harder, “And prevented me from ever seeing my family again.” 

 

Kronstadt speaks aloud, “I thought you said you didn’t have anyone?” 

 

“I don’t. At least not anyone who likes me.” The old man hangs his head, “My wife passed away long before the war, but we had two sons. After the war, one survived and resented my presence. He built a family and made it clear I never come near them. No matter what, as his father and he as my son, I still care about him.” 

 

The ride turns quiet. Rumbling tires and the roar of the engine fills their ears. Kronstadt had written off the old terrorist as a crazed yet sad man. Left behind by his original home country turned to desperate actions, unforgivable as they are. Belorossiya can’t say out loud what she wants to say. She pities him, but…finds his resolve like her Commander. 

 

“Your leader, Soyuz. She’s the only chance to come back.” He pauses, “Even if my son doesn’t want me, I want to try at least once more to see him. I still remember the old days, before I became this. When I was just a loving father serving the Parliament and raising my boys to be strong men. Maybe I’m a crazed old man wanting to serve again. Maybe I refuse to see myself die alone and crippled in a barren hill. Maybe…maybe there’s no point in it all if the Sirens win.”  

 

Belorussiya nods, “And I’m assuming that’s why we’re helping you right now.” 

 

“Good job being far away from the ocean in a desert,” Kronstadt sits back, following her arms and her legs in the passenger seat. “Trying to get away from the heavy stuff…is this really where you're going to restart?”

 

She waves her hands around them, “There’s nothing besides nomads, animals, and the mountains in the background.” 

 

Deathstrike pulls out a canteen and drinks it, “Eh, well, if I’m going to help you girls I need to get to an old radar station and contact any forces. I only know a few who keep their radios and this is my best way to get a hold of them. There’s no way I can suddenly pull an army out of my ass.” 

 

Both women are skeptical, Belorussiya makes it known, “Are you sure summoning former terrorists is going to help us?” 

 

“Who knows? It can't hurt to try.” 

 

“You're crazy.” One woman says, the other non-verbally agrees. Who was who did not concern the general. 

 

Deathstrike wags his finger, “We weren’t always terrorists. We were, and are, people too and I can guarantee there are many who don't want to see that man coming back. Now drive, we’re almost there.” 

 

Hills begin forming around them with trees dotting the sparse land. Green takes over the brown sprawl with the thicket, still thin yet lush, covering their tracks. Following the pieced together map on their board, one half by Soyuz, the other by Deathstrike, Belo drives the car off the already underdeveloped road. 

 

Gripping their seats, hands hold on as bumps throw around the passengers. Deathstrike cackles all the way much to the women’s discomfort. Whatever helps the old general ease himself. At least Kronshtadt appreciated being away from the intensely heated environment back into a land more tolerable to her body. 

 

They step out of the vehicle. Feet hit the ground left forgotten to the passage of time. Caution overtakes the kansen in this unfamiliar environment. However, their other passenger did not think the same at all. 

 

Remembering the faded buildings, the General hops out happily with his cane and rifle. Happily busing himself with removing the boxes of scrap metal from the truck, where the others join him after they secured the area. Never taking their eyes off potential threats among the land.  

 

The location is desolate. Ruins of a bygone battle are evident by the remains of equipment. Thank husks lie around the abandoned base and other vehicles in different states of disrepair. 

 

Finishing up their work, the general admires the area. 

 

“Mongolia…ah, such wonderful steppes in a land once cradling an empire.” 

 

Ignoring the history tidbit, Belorussiya scrunches up her face, “An abandoned Parliament outpost. Great use of our resources.” 

 

“Not like our people had anything to do out here.” Kronshtadt sniffs the air and writhes in minor disgust, “Ew, I smell dung.” 

 

“We just passed a caravan, Kron. The breeze is coming back towards us.”

 

She pinches her nose, “I hope we don't have long. This place reeks.”

 

Rolling her eyes, the blue haired woman approaches the flagpole. Moving past it she sees a rusted frame, “The tower doesn’t look good. So rusty.”

 

Deathstrike cackles casually, “That's for me to judge. Anything can be used if refurbished properly.” 

 

“You’re so confident about turning trash into anything useful, huh?” Kronstadt retorts, finding every comment he made adapting a certain theme, “I’m pretty sure this stuff goes back to the Great Patriotic War.” 

 

“It does actually,” Deathstrike brightens at the guessed fact, “Don’t worry, I always make my trek here every couple of years to check. My last visit was two months ago, this shouldn’t take long.” 

 

“Whatever you say, crazy man.” Belorussiya shakes her head. 

 

He claps his hands together and takes one of the boxes in his hands, “If you girls don't mind. The rest of the place shouldn't be too hard to set up. If you can help me get the lights turned on I'll be eternally grateful.” 

 

Both women nod their heads. Work is work after all and this is still a mission. 

 

---

 

Breaking apart, the two go about the tasks given to them by the old man. He may not be their commanding officer, but he knew what he was doing with the base. Kronshtadt scouted the two outlying buildings adjacent to the radar tower. One was a barracks meant for the little garrison that once manned the post, while the second was a scarce mix of storage, medical, and food. 

 

Belorussiya broke off further, her attention focusing on the scraps of vehicles. Three husks of former military grade hardware and a recent modern car with missing tires and doors. She momentarily searches one of the remains, specifically to find a spot more isolated from the other two. Reaching in between her breasts, she pulls out the hidden circular device within.

 

“Sister,” she squeezes the button and waits, “We’re here.” 

 

A voice crackles through. 

 

“Good.” Her sister buzzes, “Sorry if it's somewhere uncomfortable.” 

 

“Etch, been worse.” Belo cracks her knuckles, “How long do we need to stick with him? As remote as this place is, I feel like the hills have eyes.” 

 

“I understand the feeling. Until after he gets the message sent, he will follow our arrangement.” 

 

Belo nods, even if she can't see the gesture. “Alright, are you sure leaving him alone is a good idea? There's nothing out here and none of these facilities seem operational.” 

 

“GLA were infamous for their covert tactics and intensive use of hit and run tactics. Constantly on the move and taking anything they could. Ever wonder how efficiently they transported this?” 

 

The question perplexes the woman but she answers, “Yes?” 

 

“Look at the ground around you. Tell me what you notice.”

 

Belorussiya follows what her sister says, even if she doesn't quite understand it. She combs the land around her with her eyes. Nothing seems amiss aside from the natural formations of steppes and mountains in the distance. Trees are sparsely spaced between mounds of dirt- 

 

Wait. 

 

She taps internally. Using her kansen abilities she activates the hidden radar meant for detecting torpedoes in the water. Far from the ocean, the radar doesn't work as well around earth. However she got her results by the odd sensations pinging back to her hull, her mind. Eyes growing wide with each beat coming to fill her senses.

 

The more she dug her foot into the ground the wider the expanse. Tunnels were made with a confusing purpose to rooms containing whatever lies below. Nothing underground matches the quiet humble outpost. Belorussiya may not be able to describe what she's feeling below but she knows the tunnels went far. Dozens of tunnels originating in a central location to far flung sections. 

 

And they went in every direction. 

 

“Блядь.” 

 

Belorussiya curses in her tongue, the hills begin to feel amiss to her, “The tunnels are deep and…everywhere. Such a giant network.” 

 

“Ah you see it now, good.” Soyuz giggles from her comms, “In an age of high speed aircraft, advanced artillery, and accurate technology - these rebels couldn't rely on shallow strongholds and I can confirm many are ready to rise to the occasion."

 

"This is a dangerous plan, sister." Belo bites her bottom lip looking over her shoulder again. 

 

"I'm not the only one planning, Belo," Soyuz giggles darkly, showing a strange humor in it all, "I hope you know we're doing what we can to keep the Parliament safe." 

 

"Besides," Soyuz clears her throat, "This Mohmar isn't the only one waiting to come back." 

 

---

 

The command center lies in ruins. Walls once holding propaganda are stripped down to graffiti or forgotten youths and profanities. Once bustling with activities, the lack of a cramped individual leaves the old man in an uncomfortable nostalgia. Soon the room will be filled again. 

 

He looks behind him at the door. The two women work to get the surface facilities up and running. Deathstrike only understands enough about kansen that the secrets below should be easy to uncover. However, accessing them will require heavy ordinance since he filled the entrances with concrete. A minor inconvenience in a grand scheme of a possible war machine. 

 

The kansen perplexes him. He knew very little of either ladies and kept his thoughts on them closely. To him, Kronshtadt was a very reserved yet professional woman. She strikes him as a true and loyal patriot, intelligent enough to conduct covert tasks yet more straightforward to the application. He would have appreciated such a soul in his ranks, a source which became rare by the dozen when there used to be hundreds in the cause. 

 

Belorussiya, however, saw right through and noted a hidden veneer. Both were easy to read on their tasks and goals - he knew what they wanted and needed to do but the blue haired smiler reminds him there are still scheming figures. Some part of him suspects she’s contacting Soyuz through other means, yet…unlike all the ones who claimed to be his ‘supporters’ he truly believes these women. They’ll carry their word. 

 

He studied the kansen as best as he could. If Soyuz was anything to indicate, he knew they would be the real superweapons to turn the tide. No orbital laser cannon, no nuclear weapons, and no storms of green chemicals. Deathstrike knew these weapons were humanity’s only chance against the Sirens and none worked better than the kansen. Although he did not care for the conditions of the world anymore…he still remembers his family living beyond. 

 

Soyuz told him. She knew his son personally and if what she said is true…he’ll need his help whether he wants it or not. 

 

What is Mohmar, the real leader of the Global Liberation Army, to say no to another war? 

 

War was all he had left in his blood and the cause provided that to him. He didn't want to leave the last vestiges of such a warlike organization falling into hands of incompetent republics and scheming warlords. Deep down… he knew he would someday uncover the weapons that lie beneath. And he’ll begin with the scrap outside. 

 

This time, he’ll put an end to the cause with his own hands. Or use the kansens and foreign help if they so choose again. Beggars can’t be choosers after all, he was always one to take advantage wherever he can no matter how unfair.  

 

Even now, Deathstrike’s mind remains sharp by beginning with the husks outside. He knew they didn’t have anything useful, stripped clean of their parts, engines, and tires. Plucked apart like the GLA was towards the end and left abandoned in some distant part of the world. It didn’t matter either way, the parts he transported with the kansen should be enough to jumpstart the old husks if nature hasn’t fully broken down their bodies. 

 

He made due with worse. 

 

Deathstrike grabs the metal foldable chair in the corner, being the only piece of furniture safe enough for him to operate in. Sweeping aside the dust and stuffy air, the old man rubs his hands together under the yellowed lightbulb above him. The dim light was weakly keeping the isolated room lit, the only natural light shining through the boarded windows. His old desk, the last place he gave his farewell to the remaining men loyal to him.

 

Here he is again. This time doing the exact opposite of a dispersal into the steppes, into the deserts, into the hills. Deathstrike turns on the radio and flicks on the microphone. With one thumbs up, he hunches over the table to give a command left neglected. As a precaution, he prepared a recording machine - to send out a constant stream to those away from their radios. Who knows what lives they lead now? Pushing on, he speaks words once utilized by the zealous rebels without pause, and this time used to breathe life back into their cause. 

 

His Cause. His GLA. Not Mohmars, not Thrax's. He is Deathstrike, the real one, and he'll use this as his last act of redemption. 

 

“Our courage will be seen by all, our way is true…I am here. Be prepared to fight.”

Notes:

Beloyrussia, Belorossiya, Belorussiya my hand(s) hurts.

Chapter 5: Meal Plans

Summary:

Celebrating his birthday, there's more then just a gathering and eating for a general and her son.

Harbin is a traveled kansen of her own right. Every PR ship had come across all the major nations related to their construction as a kansen and the Eagle Union is no exception. This kansen witnessed plenty as a bodyguard, the Royal Navy coastal cities, Iris refuge ports, and the Northern Parliament fortress citadels. Each had their own charm, some she liked, others she wished to see again when the war was over. 

 

She defended Dragon Empery emissaries, kansen and humans. Always enjoying the trip regardless of the person, Harbin never took for granted the experiences she had, good or bad. It kept her on her toes and active whenever combat wasn’t always an option. Plus, her wallet grew quite large for all the missions she constantly keeps volunteering for. 

 

When the opportunity came to visit a port she hasn’t been to yet, San Diego, she couldn’t say no. 

 

Actually, she didn’t have an option to begin with. When the papers arrived at her dorms with the official stamp of the Dragon Empery’s Red Army, alarm bells rang in her head. She’s a kansen, notably a naval asset usually meant for ocean related tasks or transport. So when the order came down from a highly reputed name, Harbin shrugged and took it. 

 

However, Harbin never considered she would be forced to stay by her side at every waking moment. 

 

“Ma’am?” Harbin raises her head, having ceased her tapping on her phone, “I got a message from the others, they should be heading towards the restaurant soon.”

 

Harbin’s current client is a sharply dressed Dragon Empery woman. She wore the clothes of a seasoned politician, the black suit with a tieless white shirt. While wrinkles showed on her face and the grey hairs kept parted, frayed, and kept.

 

“Thank you.” The woman answers formally as she extends a hand, “Please?” 

 

Harbin gives her own arm, letting the lady wrap around it. They've done this before and often in public places. To the other people, it would look like a young woman helping an elderly business woman to her next appointment. For Harbin tingling neck, her client knows specific unwanted attention is nearby. 

 

The train stops and dings. As glass doors slide to the sides, they go wordlessly through the doors. Unknown to the environment, Harbin lets the woman lead them. Her head crooned around both in curiosity and caution. 

 

“Don't make it obvious, young lady.” The older woman chides her with each stride, “You'll only make things worse.” 

 

“Sorry, ma’am.” Harbin whispers back, “I don't think I've been to this city before. These aren't exactly familiar places.” 

 

“Then you're welcome, I know my way, follow my lead.” The client throws a side eye to passing pedestrians. Life in the city moves around them with moving cars and loud voices. Nothing bothered Harbin’s client in the slightest even when they narrowly dodged a biker hurriedly weaving through the crowd. 

 

Being so near to the station, the people begin to thin out the further they walk along the sidewalk.

 

“You know, young lady.” Her accent, while hinted, does not prevent her from speaking clearly among the crowd, “I visited this place for years, quite often when my son was little.” 

 

Son? Harbin knew of the woman's family but only enough to get basic information. This is the first she heard of a child.

 

“Really?” The ding of people fades more, only the nearby automotives drown out sounds. Each woman waits to speak when they're loud purring pass, “Does he live here?” 

 

She had to tilt her head to see the older woman nod, “Small enough to remember home, old enough to leave with his father. I wished he would have stayed with the Dragon Empery. Only if things weren't so complicated.” 

 

“Yeah.” The guard searches around again, only passing a few glances, “The Eagle Union isn't so bad. They're our allies.” 

 

“Now. But before?” Rough and refined, a giggle almost halts Harbin, “Its in the past. Anyways that's not what I wished to discuss. I wanted to explain why we're here. Unless you want to take a guess…” 

 

A guess means a suggestion to try. Suggestion not exactly being voluntary from all her interactions. 

 

“I assume we're stopping here before our meeting in New York.” she scratches her head, “The one about a new threat somewhere near Europa.” 

 

“Good, so you have been paying attention.” The older woman pivots, directing them down another path, “You've spoken so little, I wasn't sure if you were shy or scared of me.” 

 

“...eh.” It's odd for Harbin. She's not one to keep her mouth shut or clamor in the back. Frontlines are her specialty, she's a cruiser after all, and finding fear in the face of anxiety isn't her way. 

 

So she says as she fails to bring up words now. 

 

“Ma’am.” Clearing her throat, hoping to avoid stammering, “You're…important. Getting a letter is very different then a simple piece of paper. I'm not used to taking care of stuff like this.” 

 

“But you often stay near the Commander, no?” The old woman watches as Harbin perks up at the mention, “I see, so you have a fondness for him.”

 

“Sure, he's something else.” A laugh surprises Harbin, since it's hers, “When a guy thinks you're important enough to bring you into existence…it's hard not to follow a man like that.” 

 

“Affection for one's creator, fascinating.” The old woman rubs her chin, “Even if he's a foreigner from another navy?” 

 

“I don't see the problem,” Harbin shrugs carefully as to not shake the grip around her arm, “He's cool, intelligent, and has a nice body. There's other girls probably drooling over him right now. I'm not that kind of gal, but if he wants, I don't mind dating him.” 

 

The older woman laughs again. Rough, due to age and refined in an elegantly feminine way. Likened to a high class aristocrat of a sort, a tone Harbin finds herself opposite of in any way. Still, it was like talking to a noble woman, one she can respect. 

 

“So,” taking the initiative, Harbin finds the comfort to go for her own questions, “What's with this place? I know we're heading to a restaurant but you didn't really explain why.” 

 

“Ah, young lady,” the woman shakes her head, “Must I spell it out?” 

 

Harbin, in a measure to keep up, quickly put things together, “Oh, your son then. Right. So a family gathering then.” 

 

“Yes and no.” See-sawing the words, the older woman stops. 

 

Harbin knows why. They finally reached the restaurant after traveling a distance. Streets of San Diego gave way to restaurants along the open bay. They now no longer are confined to just the city’s urban deep, instead hearing the caws of ocean birds and waves towards the shores. Beaches appear distant amid the hustle and bustle. 

 

No, instead, Harbin focused on the building near them. The restaurant was humble and clean. With one sign written in plain font. Mixed with English and Mandarin, the characters being surprisingly accurate to what theme of the place. Hidden and spaciously decorated with Dragon Empery designs mixed into modern. The Palace. 

 

A bouncer stood tall, being large enough to make Harbin flex her shoulders. 

 

“Huh.” The name was familiar to Harbin. Dredging up thoughts of an aged article, “Looks like it's Dragon Empery.” 

 

“Because it is.” Another surprise came from the client in the form of a smile. 

 

The old woman led them straight to the towering man. Tilting her head up, the General puts on a smile Harbin knew to be her polite one for work. Breaking eye contact with the air, the man stares at the woman briefly and touches his ear. 

 

“The guests are here.” He clears his throat, “Honored-” 

 

“General,” The bouncer catches himself, stepping his massive size to the side, “They're waiting for you.” 

 

Instead of going in, she studies the man's face.

 

“Ah, you were one of his tankers.” The old woman, the General, studies the bouncer closely. Lacking the intimidation from a person so large. Instead the reverse held true, since Harbin senses the bouncer flinched at the sudden directness of her client's presence. "One of the survivors who was situated in my ranks, I assume?" 

 

“Ma’am!” His body moves on its own. The bouncer stiffly salutes, “General.” 

 

“Stop that.” The old woman swats the man's large arm. He flinches harder. “I'm just an old rich woman. Renting out a whole restaurant for my own pleasure. Understood?"  

 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

 

“I said stop it. I'm retired and no longer your officer.”

 

“Yes...ma’am.” 

 

She swats him again, cowing like a child being reprimanded. 

 

“S-sorry, ma’am. Force of habit.” He speaks haltingly, “Welcome to m-my uncle's restaurant.”

 

“Thank you,” she pats the man's arm, “My, it's been years since I last saw you. How's your family?” 

 

“Safe thanks to you.” Harbin swears a twinkle showed in his eyes, “I'm forever grateful for your generosity.” 

 

“Then enjoy it,” she finally lets her arm free. Reaching up to her black jacket and readjusting it, “Harbin.” 

 

“Yes ma'am?” 

 

“You may call me Liang, when conditions permit.” 

 

“If you say so ma’am.” 

 

---

 

Professor Liang couldn't stop tapping on the table. 

 

His mother was never the one to arrive at their meetings. She would be waiting for him, going as far back as when he was with his father. Into his adulthood, there hasn't been a place where she had already scouted and observed. Routine that he can recall once was disturbed for his father's funeral. After that the tradition remained for them - from bright eyed young child to the man he became. 

 

Routine and tradition. Everything that goes against what she's typically known for during the war. Liang's mother waged war much to the chagrin of even the most experimental Dragon Empery generals. Her preference for ordinance, usage of concealed buildings for coverage, and the reputation as the most dangerously innovative military leader. While he wouldn't voice it directly to her, Liang is keenly aware of some of the more controversial strategies from back in her day. Not reckless like General Tsing Shi Tao or hardliners like ‘Anvil’ Shin Fai. General Liang was a woman to be feared and rumored to possess the blood from the last Emperor Puyi. He knew they were silly little legends meant to rile common soldiery in the Red Army, but they showed how much she made waves. 

 

“He's still nervous.” Chen Hai sighed, waving her hand in front of him, “Ting An? How often does he do this?” 

 

“Only once or twice, when we first dated.” She pokes his shoulder, “Dear? Hello? Hmm, he usually responds to me.” 

 

He didn't budge, whispering statistics and random historical tidbits under his breath. 

 

Chen Hai sighs, “The more things change the more things stay the same.” 

 

“He was like this as a child?” Ting An worriedly clutches his hand, he does grab back but still mumbling. 

 

“Young Liang was always a nervous person.” 

 

Chen Hai wanted to say it's because Liang was a survivor of the war. The one that took so many Dragon Empery lives in massive human waves, death came from below in frighteningly complex tunnels, where it forced a little boy to flee his home out of fear of assassins. While very few spoke of violence from back then, she watched the footage. Forbidden information Ting An blissfully remains ignorant too. Most of the Dragon Empery kansen knew nothing of that path but Chen Hai had to dig. She, and two others, have taken upon themselves to make sure they understood. 

 

Chen Hai knew the solution, “But don't worry there's a quick fix to this, just whisper in his ear.”

 

“O-oh. Okay. What do I say?” 

 

From aside Chen Hai, across the table, one of the twins 

 

Scooting her chair closer, Ting An leans over his shoulder. Quickly, she fails to think of anything to say and hovers near his head.

 

“Uh.” 

 

It was enough to snap him out where he reels his head back. Tipping his chair back from four legs to two. Anticipating this, Hai Tien who sat on his other side, catches the back and pushes him back up. 

 

“Thanks,” he blinks feeling his hand back in Ting An’s fingers, “Sorry.” 

 

“Meh.” Hai Tien mumbles back, dipping her head back into a book she brought. 

 

“Good to see you back in the world of the aware.” Chen Hai giggles “You still are the same little boy.” 

 

“Sometimes.” He tries to push back, “Old habits stick around, I don't believe dying hard is the accurate way to describe it for me.” 

 

“Agreed. So, Ping Hai, how's the food?” 

 

“Almost ready!” She salutes with a ladle, “Getting plates up!” 

 

“Good.” Chen Hai feels a buzz, quickly getting her phone, she claps her hands, “Everyone! She's here!”

 

“Now!?” The professor rose up and immediately sat back down. 

 

Hurried steps followed by a storm of flailing women. More composed kansen, like Hai Tien and Chen Hai, comfortably take their places. Rushing steps tended to buzz around until the chaos quieted. Knowing he wanted to be the one to greet her, and since he needed to, the Professor took in a strong breath, squeezed Ting An’s hand once more, and rose to his feet. 

 

Doors open wide and two black suited men appear silently, serving as the vanguard to two people. One dresses casually in a dazzling white fur lined coat, brown wild hair, and a smirking yellow eyed peace. She flanked a more sharply dressed woman, older, grayed, but her expression showed more life the further she strode into the restaurant. 

 

Professor Liang swallows. 

 

“Mother.” 

 

“Son.” 

 

That stern face, the lack of a smile. He learned as a child her happiness was a rare thing to see, one only reserved for a few. Despite being retired from service, Liang's mother carries the same weight of authority ever since and before she went into the restaurant. 

 

An unheard of noise bursts from the woman; she hugs him with a smile that fills the room. 

 

Professor Liang was nervous because he knows his mother. Overwhelmingly suffocating doting parent who's become more clingy since his father died. Such feelings showed in his bulging eyes meeting the amusement of those around him. 

 

“Wow.” His mother's kansen escort whistles, “Never seen this side of her.” 

 

“Me too.” Ting An fights awkwardly with a genuinely relieved sigh. 

 

“So!” The mother stops pinching her grown child and clasps her hands, “Where's the food? I'm starving.” 

 

“Almost ready!” A voice bellows from the back of the restaurant, past a pair of double doors. “Ping Hai! Stop eating the food!” 

 

“Excellent!” The former General gestures to the chairs, “Sit down everyone.” 

 

Adhering the command, everyone returned to their seats. One of the kansen, Ning An, dressed in an apron goes to the two new members for their orders. Afterwards, she scurries back to the kitchen and chattering to those inside. 

 

Harbin sticks to leaning against the wall, keeping her head to the side but a chair is offered regardless. While they wait for their meals, the Professor is the first to talk, still recovering from the rough hug.

 

“I'm happy to see you again, mother.” 

 

“Happy Birthday, son.” Pride beams on her face, “I'm so glad you were able to get the job. How are your classes? Have they been treating you well?”

 

“Yeah, here and there…” 

 

Mother and son chatted between each other in a flurry of catching up. While those around them listened intently, Harbin, seeing the restaurant securely hovers towards the table to catch up with the others. 

 

“Hey guys.” 

 

“Great to see you, Harbin.” Chen Hai, greets her back, “How was the trip over? Nothing difficult?” 

 

“Nah, the usual, a few stray Sirens the Eagles couldn't blast, had to kick back but hey, they really like their fireworks.” 

 

“I’m assuming you are accustomed to the veteran General,” Chen Hai glances but sees the family is deep in their exchange. 

 

“She's fine. I thought she'd be more stiff then all the diplomats I dealt with but Liang’s great to be around.” 

 

Harbin leans closer to Chen Hai’s ear, “That guy? He's the son?” 

 

She hums, “Little Liang, all grown up.” 

 

“Gotcha, he's pretty good looking,” Harbin rubs her chin, “He could do with gaining more weight…he looks like a pencil.” 

 

“Deja vu,” Hai Tien casually snorted, still nose deep in her book. 

 

“Hush you,” Chen Hai rolls her eyes, “Anyways, yes, we're here to celebrate his birthday but…you know.” 

 

“The mission, right,” Harbin exhales deeply, “She knows the details. I guess we're rolling with the punches now.” 

 

As the room lights up in conversations, Ting An listened as much as she could. Try as she may, her habit of reaching for her partner was very difficult. Both because she misses being around him but she couldn't risk breaking the news to the woman across from her. Through conscious effort, she kept her chair at a decent distance to make sure she didn't interrupt them. 

 

“Found anyone?” Drinks have finally arrived and the older Liang sips on a cup of warm tea, “I would have preferred you took a bride back home.” 

 

Professor Liang took most of his willpower to not turn towards Ting An. He wanted to be honest and say it now. Everyone around him are people he trusts and with a nearly empty restaurant there are no prying eyes. They shared the same look, and he can sense she thought the same. Equally, they came to a mirrored decision - it's not the right time. 

 

Even after the delicious aroma of meat buns, white rice, and dishes from his home, Professor Liang savors the moment. Currently occupied with his mother's motives, even she was not immune to the kansen skills in cuisine. Sisters of different temperaments, Ning Hai and Ping Hai, both had a decent reputation with cooking from back home. However, the lack of Lung Wu, the seasoned chef of the fleet, showed there were some kansen who could not be present. 

 

He dug in with the others as they did, letting merry conversations carry on between those he hasn't seen in ages. Watching from the side, Liang's mother carefully lets each kansen speak and eat their way through before she finally broaches the reasons of why she's here. 

 

As mother and son, both understand there's more at stake besides a day of celebration. 

 

“There is an important issue I wished to discuss,” the old woman looks down at her plate, “I'm sorry I have to bring this up now, but I won't be staying here for long. I need to head to New York shortly after we're done here.” 

 

“I understand,” the professor scrapes his fork, “Retired life too boring?” 

 

“Possibly. If only I wasn’t retired anymore.” 

 

“Uh-oh.” 

 

Old Liang stops eating and removes a piece of paper from her jacket. The professor gnawed through his food with brief studies of the image. His chewing slows dramatically until he forcibly swallows. 

 

“Do you recognize this?” 

 

“It's the archaeological site I studied when I originally pursued ancient history, specifically Scythian culture,” the professor picks up, “Hmm, yes, it is the exact place. They have made a lot of progress since I was gone. I’m wondering how’s the crew now-” 

 

“All your colleagues who worked with you are dead.”

 

“That's-” the professor felt a lump catch his throat, “Huh?”

 

“Red Army reports sent these images back. We have reason to believe a local cell raided them last month. No survivors.” 

 

Next pictures were body bags. Cleaned and blotted images with obvious signs of devastation. People living in their homes, sitting at a cafe, and other daily activities. All dead. Followed by an image of a group lined for a photo, in the middle being the professor himself. 

 

“Dr. Mae’s home,” he shifts through each image, “Zhou, Iosef, and Vinny?! He was such a good singer from Tulipania…what happened?” 

 

One unsaid connection the professor made was some of the people in the photos, including their names. People he remembered were important figures who studied and worked in that site. A year has passed since he left the dig for the last time, only visiting friends, but also to know about their work. These same people were also known for one crucial factoid - their research was also their hostility to the GLA and their devastating destruction of important artifacts. 

 

“I originally didn't want to bring this up to you but,” his mother clicks her tongue, “Their deaths all occurred shortly after your old dig site was occupied by ‘foreign issues’. And it's why I didn't have time to warn you.” 

 

‘Foreign issues’ was Liang's motherly tactic of skirting state business, sort of code to make complex issues more open only to what he needs to know. The weight of the evidence sunk into his bones. While today is his birthday and he's glad to meet with old family, the amount of kansen in one place besides home was planned for a reason. His birthday was a convenient ploy. 

 

“There's more to this, you wouldn't bring them here for my protection.” 

 

“An added bonus,” His mother looks from kansen to kansen, “I took who I could spare.”

 

“And?” 

 

“I need you to come home.” 

 

“Mother…” he shook his head, a familiar argument erupting, “I told you before. Please don't argue with me again.” 

 

“I know,” she shoved the picture of the archeological site back, “I want you home not to stay but go back to this site.” 

 

The professor picked up the picture. Studying the image initially, he knew at a glance what it was, but not looking deeper into the content. Black blotches of unknown designs were erected at the dig. Instead of scaffolds and tents, there were ominous black buildings showing deep textures of futuristic lights. 

 

Siren tech. 

 

“I can’t,” He sits it down, “Get trained archeologists. I know you, mom. You can find your own help with all the connections you have, even if all my friends are gone. Why do you need me?” 

 

“It has to be you.” 

 

“Why?” 

 

Former General Liang whips her head back, whistling to the restaurant. Suddenly, breaking out of a closed room, uniformed soldiers of the Dragon Empery carrying a metallic box into the room. Finding an open space, they set down the container on a table. Several of the kansen in the room whisper to one another. 

 

“Open the container.” 

 

Button pressed, the metal sides drop to reveal the contents inside. Ethereally blue and cubic, every kansen knows what it is. Glowing rapidly, the soldiers push the container closer to the table. Upon stopping, one of them grabs a pair of tongs and lifts one of them up. Directly in front of the professor where it begins to grow rapidly. 

 

“Oh, shit,” Harbin failed to whisper. “Just like the Commander…”

 

Former General Liang of the People’s Liberation Army had always known there was an odd factor to her son. The ability to interact and connect with her nation’s kansen far better than even the scientists that developed them. Those he interacted with always showed an improvement in combat, better cohesion, and greater results against the Sirens. There was a factor and she knew where it laid - his father, her deceased husband and seeing it confirmed now only made what she did next harder.

 

“I need you because there's very few, and I mean a handful of humans alive with your level of wisdom cube affinity.” His mother licks her lips, closing her eyes in faux meditation, “We believe these artifacts are key to helping us not only fight the Sirens, but stop the foreign issues. Except, I need an expert in the field. Someone who can come to the site, study its remains, and give us what we need to know.” 

 

Wisdom Cube affinity. He heard about this from the others, rumors of people being randomly targeted by the Sirens. People who live far from the ocean, suddenly being found dead by disintegration or worse. Did his mother know this the entire time or was she trying to prove this to herself? 

 

“And what does my affinity have to do here?” He asks his mother, folding his arms. “You can ask their Commander.” 

 

“I can’t.” The mother grimaces, “Azur Lane won’t let me.” 

 

"Can't or you don't want to?" 

 

He looks around at the sudden hard looks from the kansen. There were plenty of rumors of how loyal the kansen are to their nations, however, they become legends when it revolves their trust for their Commander. He's famous in the Eagle Union, being a native of the nation, but his backstory is shrouded in mystery. What the professor does understand - these are gazes of women who would appreciate if he dropped the subject. Ting An reinforced it with certain expression. 

 

"Can't. Understood." He coughs into his sleeve, "I would like more reasons, this is a lot to ask of me." 

 

"Your potency enhances kansen around you with a protection against Sirens rare among people." 

 

“Sounds like a stretch." 

 

"We have confirmed research although small. It is reliable." 

 

"I guess it's from that Commander isn't it?" 

 

“He has documented cases with them, yes. Related specifically to dangerous hot zones called Mirror Seas, and the Sirens opened one at the site. Normal humans can't breach them, kansen being the only ones who could, and we have evidence to support someone of your affinity can. Formerly a national and the only remaining Dragon Empery citizen who the leadership can reliably send.” 

 

"And I know you combed for anyone else. Great."

 

"I'm sorry...son." 

 

"You and Dad really tried to keep this from me, huh?" 

 

"I didn't think it was important." 

 

"Feels like it is to me." 

 

"Are you mad?" 

 

"No...I'm used to your secrets...I just wished this didn't happen on my birthday."

 

Pragmatic. That is how he would describe his family. He spoke the truth, this bothered him but not in a way he thought.

 

They needed a tool, the Dragon Empery, and they went towards his mother to do it. 

 

Only someone the Dragon Empery can force. Of course, he had to be the son of one of a formerly powerful general. He heard about what happened to the others, such as Tao. The nuke general, who supposedly died from an accident directly involved with his hazardous side of work, believable but oddly suspicious it happened after he tried to make deals with the Eagle Union. Some could say he was selling state secrets, more politically astute scholars theorized he wanted cleaner energy. 

 

Point being - the Dragon Empery authorities love to make sure they can hold power over their own leaders. 

 

With the politics shifting to the oceans against a threat that isn’t human, they can throw their authority around in the name of the nation’s security, even against his own mother. Liang senses his mother knows this. Why she remains so loyal to them remains to be a mystery he will never understand.

 

He still needed to make sure. Both for his nerves and to see what he knows is true.

 

“I’m not a soldier, mother.” 

 

“I know…I know. I don’t have many options.” 

 

Truth bled very deeply through her words and expression. He knew, the others in the room felt it. If his own mother is in a bind, then there’s no escaping the gaze of the leadership back home. His mother is a shrewd woman by her own standard, but even she has to relent to her higher ups if they push her. Right now, they’re being diplomatic. If he said no-

 

He remembers what happened when his father said no. 

 

“And who will come with me?” 

 

Smiling for the second time since she’s entered the restaurant, the older woman motions to the room. 

 

“Take a look around.” 

 

The support was very quickly unilateral. Having listened to the conversation, everyone in the room understood what was going to happen. And the hands went up high. 

 

Chen Hai answers from her seat, “We will. Girls?” 

 

“Sure.” Hai Tien closes her book, focused. 

 

“You got us!” Ning Hai and Ping Hai, still in their aprons. 

 

“Throw me in, I like a good fight.” Harbin throws down her answer. “If Miss Liang will let me.” 

 

Liang tried to see what Ting An would say to this, but she's as uncertain as he is. Her answer picks her side. 

 

“I-If I can come. I want to.” Ting An nods. 

 

He knew the answer and he hated what he needed to do next. 

 

“Alright,” he sinks into his chair, “What’s the plan?”

Chapter 6: Crawling Forwards

Summary:

Slowly going into action, events push forward yet slowly as people move towards their destination.

Trees vibrate above the horizon, no matter how many times the sniper peers through his scope, he couldn't maintain a steady aim. He blamed the wind and the weather for making his job harder. They were there to provide overwatch for the scouts, not to fight the downpour of rain. 

 

Orders from up high - odd sightings off the coast of Texas. Coast Guard were dispatched and never returned and Azur Lane hasn’t responded to the problem yet. Thus, it lands on the only available forces on land, those under the command of a certain General. Thoughts like these come through the pair, the spotter and the sniper. 

 

Picking up their equipment, the duo slink into the background. Under the trees and foliage they melt into nature on their way back to base. They were given one goal and mission, to assist a patrol. They could see them, three men approaching a distant fog with gadgets from command. 

 

“Why didn't they use a drone, sir?” 

 

“Tried, lost signal every time,” The spotter grunts at his sniper, “These shores have been foggy for a too long and with Azur Lane busy they needed the Army to check it out.” 

 

“Figures.” The sniper checks his scope, “Uh, sir?” 

 

“What?” His spotter keeps surveying the area, making sure the scouts are secure. 

 

“There's lights popping up.” 

 

Waving his binoculars over, the sudden catch of the wind and push. Nothing was there besides the fog and the scouts, looking around at the abandoned shore. People have been fleeing the shoreline for years, returning to the confines of the cities with the occasional brave beach party held by the stubborn youth. None of that is here, including the sounds of seagulls. Only the waves swishing under the suspicious skies. 

 

It takes the experienced ears of the spotter to pick out the whistling above them. 

 

He chucks his binoculars. 

 

“We have to move now!”

 

One blunt push to his spotter, and they roll off the top of the building. He, alongside his weapon and gear, hugged his partner as they spun over the edge. Bouncing, hitting, and landing on the ground. Being on the second floor gave them less injuries met with pained groans. Whatever broken or bruised bones they had were hampered greatly by rock hard pounding of blood through their hearts. 

 

He found his rifle quickly, but not without coughing a great deal. Hacking his lungs, the sniper wriggles upwards. 

 

“Sir?! Sir!” 

 

“Right here!” A voice appears right by him, “Move, move, move!” 

 

Above them it hovers with clicking ticks of locking accuracy. Its targets, the panting humans scramble away from the humming turned into beeping, then heat. Hearts freeze as the blob of black shapes into a clear mechanical fear. Twin cannons, steaming hot and oozing blue plasma. 

 

Shot after shot, sand beats up over them. Dirt showers them as the Siren aircraft becomes more accurate with each volley. They scream, they run, they move in a zig-zag line. A remnant of their training and experience in the Middle East but giving them zero comfort against a machine with no sympathy. 

 

Only cold faced electronic orders. 

 

Coughs echo under a hail of dust. Where they once sat the ruins of the building. More crumbles into pieces and splinters while pieces continue to radiate smoke. The spotters looks around for coverage but all the buildings were being demolished as they ran. Their tower was their only safe spot and now its ruins. Desperate, he puts up his rifle and aims it at the aircraft. 

 

Something stops him from pulling the trigger. 

 

“On ya six, boys!” 

 

Ducking down, two heads barely turn their heads as a boom shakes the earth. Another whistle forces the spotter to grab his sniper again, shoved onto the hallowed ground.The floating hunk of tech above blows into shrapnel and flame. Pulled from a forgotten muscle memory, the spotter kicks up his rifle to aim at the voice - only for him to lower it in shock. 

 

“Come on, Army!” The voice calls for them, “Look alive!” 

 

Thinking barely, the spotter grabs his partner and hauls him over to the voice. Crawling first, then climbing back together on their feet, the spotter gazes on the figure who saved them. He goes wide as he sees blue and white cladding a creamy tanned skin. Tall, brown, and very much powerful woman. 

 

“USS Texas, at ya service!” She grabbed them by their shoulders and threw them behind her. Appearing in her hand is a gilded hand repeater, aiming the shots to the sky, bullets convert into energy. Flying to the sky and tearing apart the aircraft hovering above them. 

 

“Darn it.” She looks at her gun, “Anti-air ain't my thing. Hunker down, boys.” 

 

More Sirens, their aircraft infect the horizon overhead like buzzers of a swarm heeding the call of a dead member. Booming the air and breaking the tree line. The pair of humans keep their heads down with scant mutterings and hands to their ears. A fight wages above them as they crawl to a fallen wall and hide, the kansen engaging with the machines with every facet of her power on display yet unseen. 

 

Only when the booming stops, the pelting of energy do they break cover to gaze. One aircraft hovers still amid the blackened smoke, with one switch and click, the kansen hollers as it breaks apart. Dropping pieces around them, the two humans get a hard look from their savior. Smiling under a stetson hat, the newly introduced namesake of the state they're in, Texas, laughs. 

 

Texas hefted the rifle over her shoulder, “I got this boys, now head back to base. I rescued those little friends of yours so you better get’!” 

 

The sniper was about to retort, not believing the kansen at first. But the figures of three other people running for their lives proved her correct. With slackened jaws and renewed vigor, the two stumble their way to join them. His report is going to be lengthy for this. 

 

Because he knew the General wasn't going to like this. 

 

---

 

The Port, never truly taking on an actual name for an island picked out for Azur Lane HQ. It is a place of sizable space amid the vast oceans. Now houses hundreds of different kansen going to and away from the heavily guarded location. Holding the unique status of international ownership, only one truly holds ultimate authority given to them by all human governing bodies, above both the limited human staff and throngs of ships turned women - the Commander. 

 

And today, those under him hold an important meeting. 

 

“Alright, girls!” 

 

Clapping her hands together, New Jersey beams at the gaggle of kansen standing around at the docks. Today is an important event for those in attendance. She knows the itinerary by heart, and has done everything within her power to ensure it goes smoothly.  Clearing her throat and adjusting her headpiece, New Jersey takes the stand atop a crate. Despite already towering over half the crowd. 

 

“Brooklyn and I will be the main guides! We need to check with each nation and their conditions! First, our tea drinking friends - the Royal Navy!” She gets a nod from the clipboard wielding woman to the side, “What’s the status of the dorms?” 

 

“Tip top shape.” Dressed in her usual maid garb, Edinburgh musters the confidence to announce, as acting head maid, she did well to ensure her duties. 

 

“Laundry organized?” 

 

“Yes, ma’am!” 

 

“Rooms cleared?” 

 

“All in order!”

 

“Long Island touched grass?” 

 

Edinburgh looks over her shoulder to the other maid at attendance, the ever deadpan Sheffield. Reaching down to the ground she lifts up a half awake blue coat wearing gamer. Eyes half lidded, she throws up a sloppy thumbs up. 

 

“Accounted for.” Edinburgh sighs.

 

“Royal Navy aside,” Brooklyn switches the gears with New Jersey, reading off her papers, “Iron Blood? Northern Parliament?” 

 

“All good.” Eugen, stops playing with her hair, watching casually from atop a wooden crate, “Workshops cleaned and inspected.” 

 

“Aside from being on commissions and frontlines, those that are present are settled.” Chkalov, the Northern Parliament’s main head of science yawns with her cup of coffee laced with alcohol.

 

Brooklyn nods, “Orthodoxy? Sardegna?” 

 

“Half on patrol and the other half still in mass,” leaning against a wall is one of their well known leaders, Jean Bart spits to the side, “Basically, we're set.” 

 

“We’re mostly off base, for now, resting in the dorms.” Andrea Doria smiles warmly given the bags under her eyes. Being newly rotated from an outpost near her mother country, she is the standing leader of her nation on the island.  

 

“Great!” New Jersey steps back on her conveniently appeared podium, “And finally, the Sakura Empire!” 

 

“In order,” a calm and collected Takao addresses the crowd. “Lady Nagato sends her regards.” 

 

“Gotcha~!” New Jersey gives a happy thumbs up, “Your turn Brooklyn!” 

 

“Certainly,” the blond lady clears her throat, “Everyone, as you know. General Ironside is visiting the port on official business from the Eagle Union Army. Both Azur Lane HQ and our leadership from the Pentagon are working in collaboration to provide further armaments to both our nation and allies for the coming operations. He is arriving with instructions to use a shipment of laser weaponry, to arm, and provide extra firepower for base defenses and volunteers.” 

 

Murmurs go up as a hand rises. Jean Bart gives an incredulous glare. This isn’t the first time offers were made to her for the sake of improving their combat prowess. So she stands to open up her opinions on the matter. 

 

“Word on the street says this stuff comes from the previous war. They don't sound so new to me and I don’t think they’re only against Sirens. We have been getting a lot of debriefing about the recent news back in Europa. Something about terrorists, right?” 

 

Brooklyn pivots her foot to face her, “Yes. As we know, old enemies possibly recaviated from the Terror War and our leadership back home made an agreement to arm us if we need to intervene.”

 

“Huh, I thought we were already using lasers though…” an off handed comment comes from Edinburgh. Her eyes wander over to Eugen, who only shrugs in return. 

 

“Hmm, I recall Yuubari talking about acquiring new gear,” Chkalov chimes in, “Hey, hold on, you said Ironside?” 

 

“Does he,” Takao narrows her eyebrows, “Is he…?” 

 

“Shhh,” New Jersey waves her hands up, “Yes, yes. He is the Commander's dad. And yes, we need to remember he's on ‘official’ business.” 

 

Air quotes float in the air as if they were visible. Heads nod as the message is received. Rumor mills provided all of them ample information about their Commander's family. The Commander, or ‘Ironside’, is beloved within Azur Lane. Aside from being, the head, the leader, and everyone’s subject of respect. And possessing a growing batch of admirers…

 

New Jersey looks to be left and right, “Okay, he's going to be arriving with Enterprise within the hour and we have three things we need to make sure of. Starting-” 

 

“Ground rules,” Brooklyn flips open her clipboard, “We don't mention the METAs. No one outside of Azur Lane knows anything about their existence and those that do consider them high priority targets. Despite their more than friendly terms, the ambiguously motivated members have made them enemies in our government's mind. Thankfully, we don't have any of them here right now, but the Commander wants to make sure questions aren't asked.”

 

No complaints and the reason is sound. Feelings towards the META ships vary from friendly to weary. There were plenty of  interactions between each faction but their history was questionable for most in the gathering. Takao swallows back spit as she remembers the dossier made on her counterpart, a powerful META among their ranks, and supposedly threatened the Commander's life. The idea of a different version of her walking around makes her tighten the grip of her sword. 

 

“Next, the equipment he's bringing relies on fusion tech. I'm not really sure how to explain this part…” 

 

Being the scientist she is, Chkalov clicks a heel for everyone's attention, “Supposedly cold fusion. Unlike how our stuff relies on our own personal strength and Wisdom Cube based understanding, I've heard the Eagle Union was the first to develop its own kind - it's basically nuclear energy of a safer type. I have yet to study one myself, although I have witnessed a reactor in operation. They are quite safe as long as you do not spill the contents, they are radioactive and can affect kansen.” 

 

“Yeah! What she said!” New Jersey sheepishly rubs the back of her head, “Uh, so what we're saying is we need to be careful with this stuff or we could really have a disaster on our hands.” 

 

“Lastly,” Brooklyn moves along, “the most controversial part - we need to hide the existence of uh…the group.” 

 

“The what?” Andrea Doria chimes in.

 

“You know, the group.” Brooklyn snaps her fingers, “His ‘group’.” 

 

Crickets. Not really, actually a pair of Manjuu waddled into each other and made cricket-like noise only to be gently pushed aside by Jean Bart. 

 

The Group, everyone knows who they are. A selection of kansen commonly labeled the ‘lucky ones’, an honored and respectful status. There was envy to be found for them and at the same time, a sense of pride for nations capable of getting one into the ‘Group’. Recently, a member of the Royal Navy entered it, which Edinburgh has her own positive opinions on. She was in charge of the celebrations when her sister wasn’t. 

 

Having to hide a blush, Jean Bart breaks the fallen curtain of silence, “Uh, why?” 

 

“Because,” Brooklyn flips through all her pages. Turning the clipboard upside down until she eventually closes all the papers and reorganizes it, “Commander's request and I quote, ‘The old bastard doesn't know yet.” 

 

“Ohhhhhh…” the chorus of understanding dances through the ranks. 

 

“Figures,” Jean Bart rolls her eyes, “Whelp, things will get awkward. Got anything else?”

 

“I think that's it.” Brooklyn motions to New Jersey, “Final words?” 

 

“Yup! Alright, girls.” New Jersey smiles big and slaps her hands together, rubbing them, “Today is an important day, remember to pass the word onto your fleets and follow the Commander’s orders. Dismissed!” 

 

---

 

Standing over close to the edge, old Ironside kept his hands behind his back. Walking alongside the lines of the ship, he keeps to the painted lanes of the carrier. As an army general, he was used to the land and it's all its comforts. Being able to be so close to the expansive ocean and watching the birds above gave him an exhilarating feeling. 

 

He stepped over the line to see something up close. He avoided the planes sitting in rows, older models from a bygone age, even older than the man himself. They sit gleaming under the sun. The General approved of their designs, having a fondness of his son’s childhood - painting these models for his bedroom. 

 

There were always ships on display in his room - an expensive hobby, but one he funded easily with his rank and pay. The General participated with his own from time to time, even buying a few out of a whim after his son left for the Navy. He remembers the colors, blue, gray, and malt certainly white. He was no artist, yet tried to at least see the engineering behind such ships. Like the model his son first made, painted neatly along the middle of the flight deck, General Ironside reads “CV-6” in big letters. 

 

“General?” 

 

He looks up, walking up to him is the white haired owner of the ship. Clad garbs similar to an officer, the biggest difference being her low sleeves and black skirt. While the General's libido died years ago, having his rocks partially shot off during his last GLA engagement, he could see how flawlessly pretty she is. His interactions with Memphis made it clear - they were inhumanely beautiful. 

 

“Enterprise.” He bobs head knowingly, “I'm just admiring your flight deck. It's so odd to see no one up here…reminds me of when I spent time on one of the Nimitz.”

 

“One of the modern ones.” Enterprise joins him, looking down at her number, “I never met her myself, but I hear she's a good fighter, she’s too busy rotating with her sisters in the Pacific theatre.”

 

“Wow, they made a kansen out of the Nimitz?” The General gives a half grin, “They're moving fast. Next thing you know, they'll be turning pirate ships into kansen.” 

 

He doesn’t know, better stay quiet for the Commander’s sake. Enterprise shifted, she smiled, “What do you know about us, sir?” 

 

“Officially, very little besides my interactions with Memphis.” He shrugs, recalling the classified documents. Few were available, even to the Pentagon. Azur Lane always operated as an entity almost separate from them if not for HQ, their designated base in New York. What he does know comes from his son. 

 

“Off the records, my boy talked a lot about you girls, more than I can understand,” General Ironside remarks, studying her features for a reaction, “He spoke of you girls like he spoke of his friends back home but from a different world entirely. Fun adventures and crazy stories, you all kept him safe and happy. Not something I expected from a group of weapons.” 

 

“Hmm.” Enterprise keeps herself fixated on him, not changing her face, “I'm assuming we'll be keeping things cordial, then?” 

 

Polite, maybe a bit stiff compared to Memphis. He quickly realizes his misuse of the word ‘weapons’. Nevertheless, he can rebound and the General chuckles softly, “I hope we can be friendly, too. It was hard supporting you girls when the old asses back home would rather be the ones in charge. You wouldn't believe how many times I had to convince those dusty coots that you are all better off under my son, bias withstanding.” 

 

“I don't follow, sir.” 

 

He shrugs, “I trust you probably as much as I trust my son. A lot. So you don't have to worry about any judgments from me. My mind’s made up, you girls need to eat, sleep, and shit like us. You’re human in my book.” 

 

“Very crude way of putting it,” Enterprise giggles, cracking a relaxed grin, “I’m sorry, I was only worried. I can see the resemblance now, you two act alike but you're more…” 

 

“Old? Cranky? Angry?” 

 

“I was going to say ‘poised’, sir.” 

 

“Hah, too nice. Can't care enough what I'm called, young miss.”

 

“You care enough to rely on your son’s words to trust us,” Enterprise notes, “That is more than enough to earn my respect.” 

 

“No bullshit, Miss Enterprise. That's all I am.” 

 

“...I guess that's one of putting it,” she laughs, finding her words quickly, “Experience sure does that to people.” 

 

Smiling big, Enterprise nods her head, “You don’t seem as jaded as I thought. Dark, but not jaded.” 

 

“It's a new world, Miss Enterprise.” The General sucks in air and breathes out slowly, “You can only ask for the best and you can only hope for the worst. That’s how I always lived. But my son? He told me one day, “Dad, I’m going to make sure we can get all the hope in the world.” The General breaks out in a deep short laugh, “Ah, he was mad at me for days. I didn’t believe him, but he proved me wrong.” 

 

“He can be a dreamer, I assume he gets the realist side from you then.” It was not a question, it's an observation on Enterprise’s part. 

 

“No, his mother, she was always the one that drilled the more important stuff in his head.” The General’s face morphed somberly, “I wasn’t always home to teach him. My wife, though, was the biggest pusher in his life. He would always tell me he became an officer because of me, but I don’t believe him one bit.”

 

“I don’t think so, sir.” Enterprise said, “He has spoken of you on a few occasions. Especially when he told us about your upcoming visit.” 

 

“Telling you girls, I’m a hardass, huh?” 

 

“Jokingly, yes.” She carefully rolls her shoulders, her coat over her shoulders is an odd feeling but she felt she needed to wear it more formally, “No, he said you’re the strongest man he knows. And I consider that high praise because I think the same of him.” 

 

“Huh,” Ironside lets himself grin at the words, “You girls really respect him? Memphis wasn’t wrong.” 

 

“We do.” Enterprise gets serious, “She is right. He pulled us out of the thick and thin. Everything we have accomplished is because of him, especially how united we are.” 

 

The General studies the carrier. He wanted to find any hint of deception, lies, or even simple blind loyalty. None of it was found on her. He knew the stories of his nation’s decorated warships, the USS Enterprise made to greet and guide him to his son’s new home. No, he found true adoration in her look and a little bit of…that same gaze his wife once gave him when she lived. 

 

He keeps this in the back of his mind, something tells him his son isn’t exactly as truthful about the conditions of his ‘bachelor’ lifestyle. On the other hand, he could tell, Commander Ironside earned their respect. 

 

“I can see that, Miss Enterprise.” He chuckles heartedly, “Let’s hope he can hold us to it when the time comes.” 

 

“Sir?” 

 

“I’ll be frank with you, ma’am.” The General gazes past her towards the edge of her ship, “I know your enemy is out at sea and I stay on the land. We both know this unholy alliance of Siren and extremists is coming. You read the papers, right?” 

 

“Papers, no. I try not to focus on what the people have to say,” Enterprise admits openly, she looks down, “We, I, was around during the early days. They weren’t kind to us when we first appeared in the news.” 

 

“Sorry, for what it's worth.” Memphis mentioned it to him too. Kansen weren’t well received in the early days of their deployment. Many old heads and warhawks valued their uses yet the issues of their existence was an ugly matter for certain groups. Ironside was lucky to not be one of those sacked after the last of those riots were put down. He didn’t mind, politics were never his forte and it was a nasty business to be caught in the limelight. The General hated complications in operations if it came from problems out of his control. 

 

“Not opening those cans of worms back then,” he coughs into his sleeve, “The point I’m making, I think you’ll have to be seeing more of me in the coming days.” 

 

“Fighting on land?” 

 

“Fighting together.” He grins, “I gotta make use of my boys again. Get ahold of the Marines because I know they would want in on this rodeo. Hope you’re ready for a fight.” 

 

“Aye aye, sir.”

Notes:

Slowly just like my updates, still building the story heh