The Pieces are Moving

by Sopkanam

Summary:

Kings wage their battles on the board, but the real fights takes place on the field, at the base, and among the pieces on the board. In Checkered Board's world - the pieces are moving.

Notes:

Back with the next installment to Checkered Board. Acting as a mini-series filling in stuff - this is more following the format of different stories interlocking with each other related to the first story. Its going to serve as a transition to next major sequel I have planned and wanted to write more of just the kansen themselves.

Chapter 1: Opening

Summary:

Pieces are moving. And the game begins.

Notes:

New Chapter one. Figured this one worked better then what I had initially. Just moving around chapters.

Training is essential for a kansen. Like any military serving in times of war, they must stand ready to be deployed in the name of their people and/or paycheck. Kansen is like those soldiers, serving for a greater purpose - to hone themselves for an arduous task - to fight an enemy threatening the security of their nation and kin.

 

Like pieces on a board - each chess piece must carry out its duties. To ensure they fulfill the goals of their leaders.

 

For Strasser, training also serves as her way to test her mind. To show the world the knowledge she gained from years of careful study into the practices specific to kansen and their supernatural abilities. She was as much a scholar as she was an aircraft carrier personified.

 

“You’re zoning out.”

 

Without tapping her fingers on her cane, Strasser turns away from the observation deck, “Ah, Graf Zeppelin. Good morning.”

 

Her sister grumpy scoffs, joining her in watching the gathering ships below.

 

“Oh, I should be more accurate. Good afternoon. You’ve slept in all morning,” Strasser leans closer, “Or were you having plenty of fun with the Kommadant?”

 

“I-” Graf Zeppelin stumbles and pouts, “S-shut up.”

 

“I didn’t hear a no~.”

 

“Our bedroom is our privacy, Strasser.” The older sister leers.

 

Strasser is used to it and unaffected by her intimidation, “Are you sure? You smell like fish.”

 

“We are ships. Vessels that regularly go through the ocean,” she hardens her glare and mouth quivers, “Don’t we all smell like fish?”

 

“Sure, if you’re a submarine.” Strasser pokes her tongue out. In defiance, Graf responds in kind, “Relax, sister. I’m glad you two are happy.”

 

“Besides, I prefer this new, somewhat less doom-and-gloom version,” Strasser smirks. She adjusts her sister’s crooked collar with one hand, “In the past, I disliked how you spent all your time cooped up in your room. But this is a nice change of pace being in his room.”

 

“Anyways, sis.” Coughing into her sleeve, Zeppelin tries to change the subject, “I didn’t come here to get teased. I have questions about this place.”

 

Graf Zeppelin motions to the technological walls radiating with red lights and alien metal, “You said you train here regularly? What is this place?”

 

“Ah, I’m glad you asked,” Strasser lifts her cane, “This is the Iron Blood’s technological wonder! The Floating Fortress. A pinnacle of human-Siren infusion. Rivaling the likes of the Eagle Union or the Sakura Empire’s grand designs. Life-like simulations geared specifically to areas such as anti-air, anti-submarine, and surface combat.”

 

They stand atop an observation deck. Overlooking the facility’s sprawling network of artificial islands and floating platforms. Each contains a building or defense structure meant to fend off any invader. An airfield with dozens of new and old aircraft housed in large hangar bays. Repair sites spewing out roaming robots, fixing and attending to the base’s care and maintenance.

 

“Self-sufficient and with a near impenetrable online network. Neither Azur Lane nor suicidal cultist can break through here.”

 

Pursing her lips, Graf Zeppelin folds her arms, “That didn’t stop the Sirens from invading and taking control, now did it?”

 

“A setback, to be sure,” Strasser answers defensively, although she relaxes her shoulders, “But we have an effective counter to guard the gates.”

 

At the very edge of the facility, Graf Zeppelin had to squint her eyes. Seeing past the rising sun and its annoying rays of light, in the same corner of the base stands two figures. Apart from one another and patrolling the border, two figures observe their surroundings. Skating across the waters and never making eye contact. Although, a brief moment is shared where the two pause in front of each other and move along.

 

“The METAs,” Graf Zeppelin dryly adds, “Sisters from different worlds. Yet so alike to our own.”

 

“Despite the major difference in power and experience, deep down, they still are the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau we know.” Strasser says with a slight sadness, “I heard their stories. They are the only survivors of their respective worlds. I can’t imagine being the only one to live among the dead.”

 

Zeppelin quiets at the thought. The possibility of being the last kansen standing in a world where it was all lost. In the past, her mind often wandered to the idea. And even now, she still knows what she will do.

 

“I’ll do what we always have, sister.” Graf Zeppelin gains her sister’s questioning, “I heard their stories too. They still kept fighting even when all was lost.”

 

“And this is the Finale you speak of, correct?” Strasser adds, surmising her sister’s train of thought, “To fight until the very end.”

 

“The Finale itself is the end,” Graf Zeppelin explains while her eyes wander over the base, watching the occupants.

 

“You never did explain to me what the Finale was,” Strasser taps her chin, “Is it like Ragnarok? Or the end times in those Iris books? I never understood where you got the idea.”

 

“You really want to know?”

 

Strasser nods curtly. She pulls up her wristwatch, “We have time.”

 

Breathing through her nose, Graf Zeppelin prepares her words. What is the end for someone else? What is an idea to someone who sees a bright future instead of a dark ending? For all her nihilism, even Graf Zeppelin understood what she really wanted and felt what she feels now - it is difficult to explain the passion behind her Finale.

 

“The Finale,” she looks back outside the large expanding windows, towards the horizon, towards the two sisters who are obviously avoiding each other, “The Finale….”

 

“Sister?”

 

Graf Zeppelin finds her voice, “It is the final battle. It is much like Ragnarok, but no rebirth or survivors exist. Only us and the abyss. The Finale is the penultimate final battle with all you have left. With every ounce of strength, an ounce of despair, and raspy breath.”

 

She points at the two below, “If you heard their stories, the Finale is like that. Fighting until you get dragged down to the bottom of the ocean.”

 

Peter Strasser nods. She took every detail and understood the picture her sister set up the entire time. It is morbid. Grim. Dark. Dying on one’s feet. A future with no good ending, only a cornered effort to stand on the hill for one last time.

 

“I get it.” She manages to say, “Sounds like Scharnhorst’s philosophy.”

 

“...which one?” Zeppelin blinks, “And she has one?”

 

“Both, surprisingly,” Strasser smiles, “She can be articulate if you give her a topic to link to fighting. She’s more of a warrior than a poet. By no means does it make her a brute?”

 

“Huh, the more you know….” Zeppelin trails off.

 

The sisters, joined by a third member, watch a third enter the room.

 

“Ulrich.” The two say simultaneously and unintentionally.

 

“Morning,” she nods at the two, “Good to see you two are on good terms again.”

 

Rolling her eyes, Graf Zeppelin makes a face, “And let me guess, she told you?”

 

“Nope,” Ulrich grins, “It radiates from you two. Many people feel awkward when you two are in the same room.”

 

"Oh," Strasser gulps as she tugs on her coat. Embarrassing the siblings, Ulrich grins in amusement.

 

“Drama and sister makeup aside,” she hands a stack of papers to Strasser, “All the tests results and data. Everything we gathered from the METAs and their knowledge from their worlds.”

 

Strasser takes the packets, “Thank you, Ulrich, and I’m grateful for running the Fortress while I’m gone.”

 

“No problem, it wasn’t an issue at all,” she stares outside, “Aside from one problem, that is.”

 

“What was it?” Strasser’s smile dies.

 

“It would be easier if I showed you.”

 

---

 

“... I’m not sure. Herr Kommadant looked like he was bothered by the Fortress.”

 

Zeppelin agreed. The three stepped outside with their conversation, Ulrich leading the charge as the sisters spoke. Listening in on the, too, Ulrich picks up a few hints of dialogue. Having been isolated from the fleet for a long time, learning about this ‘Kommadant’ is entertaining and exciting in more ways than one.

 

“I’m surprised he wasn't shocked by my rigging,” Ulrich joins in, her hand sliding a keycard through a sensor on an entrance, “People are usually scared of us.”

 

The carriers share a long knowing look, “Let’s say he’s very fond of them.” Strasser smiles innocently.

 

“An officer who likes rigging. Smart.” Not catching the hints, Ulrich bobs her head in approval, “He has a good head on his shoulders.”

 

“...mostly.” Zeppelin pinches the bridge of her nose, “I love the man, but he will be the end of himself.”

 

“No way,” hearing the word ‘love’ come out of Graf Zeppelin and being applied to anything shocks Ulrich, much to the carrier’s dismay and Strasser’s amusement, “You’re dating him?!”

 

“Here we go again,” two eyes ogle the woman, “Y-yes. We’re dating.”

 

“Wow, miracles can happen,” Ulrich gives a thumbs up in approval, “Never thought someone as frigid as you could get with a man like him. Good job.”

 

Feeling the bite of the comment and the brutal honesty, Graf Zeppelin groans in pain as her sister laughs.

 

Ulrich leads the pair far from the deck and into a communication tower. A large structure matches the height of the observation deck but is made separate from the system. The reason for it came at the behest of Strasser after the last attack.

 

They enter a room blaring with a large blank screen. Ulrich clicks a button on a podium, then types numbers into a keypad. The screen blinks to life, detailing a large map centered around the lands of Europa.

 

Ulrich takes her place behind the podium while the sisters gather behind her.

 

“Before you came back, dozens of lights popped up here,” Ulrich turns a dial, switching the map to a different state. “All of them were centered around here.”

 

She points at the top of the map. Above the Iron Blood’s homeland in a grayed-out zone. An area labeled as hazardous.

 

“Scandinavia,” Strasser frowns, “Those are all around Oslo.”

 

“I notified the Admiral and the Kommadant. And U-47 should be approaching the area now. A wolf pack has been placed on standby.” She zooms in around the water. The highly detailed screen focuses on the terrain near the former city of Oslo. Long lines of black dots stretch around the port. Acting as a barrier to the city’s waters.

 

The raven-haired carrier contemplates, “Shouldn’t be a problem.” She shrugs, “Malfunctions are frequent with weather problems and plain error, although I don’t know how an entire line of buoys can be set off simultaneously.”

 

“Sirens, maybe?” Ulrich guessed, “I don’t know why they would want to go to a nuclear wasteland.”

 

“The land is irradiated and uninhabited, not the water, Ulrich,” Strasser informs her, directing her to zoom out, “The zone was set up to keep people away from there. It would be odd for the Sirens to try and take over land that’s already considered too dangerous for people.”

 

“Northern Parliament?”

 

Strasser shakes her head, “Can’t be them either. They don’t come over here without warning us. Unlike the rest of Azur Lane, we have a sort of ‘mutual agreement.’”

 

Ulrich gives up and shrugs, “I don’t know, but I thought I should bring this up. The Kommadant brought his fleet nearby, and I thought it would be a cause for concern.”

 

Graf Zeppelin watched the screen aimlessly the entire time they spoke to each other. Her eyes are glued to the screen as her mouth grows agape, and her expression shifts. A behavior which took Strasser a lull in her conversation to notice.

 

“Zeppelin? Hey.”

 

She snaps her fingers, but Zeppelin would not budge.

 

“Zeppelin! Hey!” Fingers snap in front of her face, “Strass to Zep. Yoo-hoo!”

 

“She looks out of it,” Ulrich notes.

 

“Okay,” Strasser scratches her head.

 

She keeps staring at the screen, seeing where the lights were blinking earlier. Tracing her gaze, Strasser locates where her sibling fixated.

 

“Ulrich,” getting an idea, the carrier murmurs, “Mind reversing to when the alarms came on?”

 

“Sure, here.”

 

The screen shifts to the recorded moment. Before the alarms are raised, Ulrich slows the replay. Clicking buttons and watching the footage. She is about to play it until Strasser takes over the console.

 

“Yo, hey!” Ulrich gets bumped back, “You could’ve said so!”

 

“Sorry,” Strasser hastily replies, “I think I saw it too. Look.”

 

Fast forwarding and rewinding the time, the alarms are shown turning on. Zooming into the footage, there’s a section of the warnings Strasser carefully targets. As she plays back the recording, several floats flicker, and the red lights turn on.

 

“What, that could be wanting to set them off.” Ulrich waves a hand to it, “Problem solved.”

 

“Watch the water below it.”

 

And they do. The footage plays back and slows to a crawl. Below the line of alarms, the waves move as nature has intended. Crashing along the surface and moving with the wind. Deep below, however, a large shadow moves underneath the water, out of the hazardous zone, and towards the line of mines.

 

The size is massive, more significant than any creature, and possesses features unlike one. Bits and pieces of wrecked ships clung to its body. Shrouding the thing’s form in an amorphous blob of scrapped metal.

 

Commanding the footage, Strasser follows the shadow as it swims through the waters. The moment it’s supposed to make its impact with the field, the thing resurfaces.

 

The moment it touches the outline of the mines, it stops. As if sensing the waters around it and the possible explosive outcome if it moves forward. The blob descends once more and retreats back to the area it left. Distributing the still flashing alarms and disappearing into the zone.

 

Strasser clears her throat.

 

“Didn’t you say U-47 was sent out there to investigate?”

 

“She came from the Kommadant’s post, yes,” Graf Zeppelin interrupts, “Can we contact the wolf pack? U-47 is a known lone wolf; this is the worst time to be alone.”

 

Strasser was ahead of her, “And sent. We won’t be able to make contact until she gets back to the threshold of the mines.”

 

“I think I have an idea. We can track her location,” Ulrich tries to refocus the screen, but the console cuts the footage. An alarm is set off again. But that location shifts away from the perimeter of the hazardous zone and towards an area on the screen that fills everyone with dread.

 

‘Warehouse E3, alarm set off’. The screen reads off. Followed by details of the warning, “Rogue rigging.”

 

Ulrich mutters a curse, "Ah, crap. Isn’t that the Kommadant’s post?”

 

“Yes,” Zeppelin confirms, “Hipper and Adalbert are still there. As far as I know, they’re very apt at handling these things.”

 

“Could be Eisen acting up again,” Strasser sighs, “Either way, we need to track U-47 and contact Berlin to inform-”

 

Whatever. All heads turn to the screen.

 

Alarms popping up in Kiel, Wilhelmshaven, and another one - around the Floating Fortress. Then a transmission comes through. The face of August Von Parseval comes onto the screen. Her typically regal expression is filled with terror.

 

Strasser looks at Ulrich, and the latter leaves the room immediately. The former recollects herself and addresses the screen.

 

“August!” Strasser responds, still reeling from the bombardment, “You’re supposed to escort the Admiral. What’s going on?”

 

“The rogue rigging!” She almost shouts, “It was Niddhogr! We tried to capture it until the rigging tried to eat Eisen.”

 

“What happened to it!” Graf Zeppelin pushes Strasser off the comms, “You didn’t-”

 

“No, we almost did.” August proclaims, “Eugen is trying to patch him up, but…we don’t know if it affected the Kommadant!”

 

Strasser and Zeppelin freeze. Neither said any more words to the other, but they did give a glare.

 

Flying out of the room, the gray-haired carrier. Determined and secretly scared of what is to come. Adjusting her hat and uniform, she storms off to the outside.

 

Chapter 2: Knight Scouting

Summary:

U-47 is sent on a mission. She finds more then she was ever meant to discover.

A twofold task, the first being the most important, for she was asked by the high command in Berlin. An official order directly from Bismarck herself. Others before volunteered, but she was picked among the batch. Being the middle of the day she had finally arrived close to her destination. Possessed with a penchant for lone wolf missions and wants to conduct a more thrilling mission since her rebirth in existence all those years ago…

 

“Emil Actual to Emil One. What is your status?”

 

“Clear.”

 

“...Understood, Standby.”

 

Warships on the surface would wield massive guns. Heavy firepower was meant to fight wars of worldwide magnitude. Submarines are the creations of humanity to defy the depths of the sea. Their underwater counterparts, sharing the same goal of being weapons of war, have different means. 

 

“Coordinates received. Proceed with caution.”

 

Submarines rely on the deep blue to practice their craft. In the case of Kansen, they carry on a lasting presence of this purpose.

 

U-47 knows this and is bored by the stray thought. Being who she is now, her speed is far better than when she was simply a ship underwater.

 

Swishing and swooshing, she bobs her head in muted motions. Unbothered by the salt water, being a submarine given human form has benefits. Being able to stay under for long periods.

 

“Stay safe out there, and I want you back in one piece. I’ll have some desserts waiting for you. Good luck, Emil One.”

 

She fidgets with a strand of hair. The person on the other side is a good friend of hers. Informal, yet straight to business. Still, orders are orders.

 

“Understood.”

 

To her, the water is like air. Natural and easy to flow and move. There were differences between the two, no doubt about it. Even for a kansen like herself, one does not simply inhale water. Instead, she minds her breath, holding it in for times out, matching the best swimmers in the world. 

 

She swims. Propelling herself forward with her rigging, the fish-like machine beast under her control. An extension of herself and part of her body in more than just the physical sense, it lifts its head back to see the face of its owner. Hidden behind her scarf, she nudges her head forward. Getting the message, the loyal beast carries on - none the wiser to the submarine’s thoughts.

 

While she’ll never say this to her own rigging, who revels in this environment, U-47 does not like the water.

 

Before here lies the challenge of chains. Dozens of interlinked floating spikes of steel. Spikes jutting out as a warning for any who come and detection for surface ships and submersibles alike. Here lies the challenge and object of her distaste, a field of explosives threatening her life.

 

Knowing her history and who she is, the Bull of Scapa Flow tightens her hands around the grips. Handles rev her engines as the beast slinks its tail in adherence. A loyal beast and contemplative owner, the two charge by bravery and caution into the depths of the oceans.

 

Left and right, right and left, the raven-haired woman weaves through the mines. Not slowing her momentum, she leans when she needs to, pushing heavily through the deep blue Mindful of each stroke, careful of all the spikes. 

 

U-47 breaks concentration to receive attention from her rigging tips. Its metallic head points up at the surface above. Relaying the worrying sight of shadows casting darkness on their position. They know who it is and, with a gurgle, hasten her mission.

 

Sirens.

 

Radiating artificial lights of blue and purple to the deep sea. Cloaked in black silhouettes and numbers matching the mined water. Failing to notice the perpetrator moving below.

 

According to her briefing before the mission, none were active here. Sirens do disregard intelligence regularly, much to her muffled annoyance.

 

Musing possibilities, she resumes her exploration. Naval mines extend for miles in every direction since she arrived in this location. Noting the range and addressing estimates to her site, her internal equipment stored on her rigging tells her that more mines are laid out than initially anticipated.

 

Then she sees it.

 

The endless, dauntless void. At the perimeter of the minefield, where the safe blue waters end, the minefield to dissuade Siren forces begin.

 

None of what is in the mission report is found here.

 

Limited in her current options, she slows her pace and dims her lights. Directing her rigging to shut off the engine, it hesitates and obeys. She has a plan, and it is to rely on her natural strength to push the two forward. Pressured by both her mission and the danger, there is little comfort for her in this situation besides her stalwart rigging and her scarf.

 

‘The depth isn’t supposed to feel like this,’ U-47 lets her melancholy fill her thoughts, ‘I don’t like this.’

 

Tying her scarf tighter around her neck, she realizes her mission is more dangerous than before. Her rigging senses this and loads the torpedoes into their proper places.

 

Still…she has only accomplished half of her mission.

 

Turning on her lights and checking the surface, the Siren’s presence seemingly vanishes the moment she swiftly passes the last mine. Not bothering to resurface until she is sure that the danger is past. Instead, plunging deeper into the dark water, where her lights barely pierced the depths.

 

Hours tick by in the deep dark. Away from the surface above and the skies containing blotchy gray clouds. Distance keeps her mind weary but bored, and she only has thoughts to think for herself.

 

She wants to be home more than anything. Reading a good book, near a warm fire, and somewhere far safer than whatever lurks here. Darkness be damned, or the depths left unchecked. U-47 is a submarine, and she will accomplish her mission.

 

Ascending to the surface, the veteran submarine rotates her head in every direction. She uses her internal radar and senses to check once, twice, three, and four times before she is confident the waters above are safe enough for her to enter. Assured she can move to the next mission phase, she pats her rigging on its head, and the two float to the top.

 

Taking her first gulp of air, U-47 immediately dims her lights. In fact, she doesn’t know how to respond to her findings.

 

Checking her coordinates. Double checking. Blinking to herself and to her rigging.

 

This is where the Scandinavian shoreline used to be. The last battle of the Bundeswehr, the Iron Blood’s last gasp against the endless tides of Sirens before the kansen was born into this world.

 

Wreckages. Sunken and sinking Siren ships are found everywhere as she enters open waters. Half-submerged battleships, leaking cruisers with their guns twisted around, and several humanoid Sirens bob lifelessly. Their destruction would be appreciated if not for the number of destroyed human naval ships. Remains of a forgotten navy lay among the enemy.

 

U-47 cautiously observes the torn-apart husks, bitten by teeth marks resembling the very same from her own rigging. Corpses of dead sailors, having long since rotted into skeletons, are strewn aboard hulls. An eerie sight that forces her to look away for the sake of her stomach and sanity.

 

Then it starts.

 

Pinging.

 

One.

 

Two.

 

Three.

 

Four. Five. Six.

 

Revving up her engines and preparing her torpedoes, U-47 whips her head back as a sudden protrusion jumps from one of the wreckages. Cold, metal, and dangerous. Cutting a strand of her hair and putting her senses into overdrive. Dodging another hit with a lowered head and hands on handles, her rigging gets the signal and darts.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, more attacks from what she presumed were dead ships surrounded her. Vessels turn upright, ignoring the giant holes in their hulls. Skeletal remains of dead sailors are absorbed into the hulls as they sluggishly float towards her, flickering broken light fixtures and humming intensely.

 

Husks of war have come to fight once more.

 

Whispers. Germania’s language. They whisper in her ears in forgotten tongues and scrambled words of her language.

 

They want her to come to them.

 

To bring them home.

 

The dead ships aim their lights at her.

 

Hugging her rigging with dear life, U-47 retreats in nervous haste. Her rigging does not have to be told twice to preserve its master and keep them alive. It pinpoints a safe direction opposite the dead fleet above. Avoiding, missing, and narrowly dodging haphazardly aimed torpedoes.

 

Opening her eyes wide, she senses it. Her systems scream internally at her as a figure swims up to her, matching her speed. Perceiving it as a threat, U-47 rears her rigging’s head - but a hand appears from the dark and beckons for her.

 

Barely looking over, she sees it. Or see her. Another woman.

 

She wears a uniform, although tattered and worn. All the markings on her show it. The colors of the red and black faded into the water. She rides atop a rigging, or what U-47 equates to one. All she can see is the shape, the glowing four-eye slits, and the surrounding shroud.

 

A kansen?

 

Hearing her radio buzz on, she touches her ear, tapping into her rigging and herself again. And her ear erupts with loud shouting.

 

‘You’re a U-Boat! Like me!’ U-47 relays frantically, ‘Who are you!’

 

‘Doesn’t matter!’ the supposed kansen barks back, ‘We told them not to send anymore! Those bastards!’

 

‘Who’s we?!’ U-47 angrily messages back, suddenly feeling a pain in her side.

 

 ‘Argh!’

 

Not sure what hit her; U–47 sniffs it.

 

Red liquid mixes in with the water distorting her view.

 

Her blood.

 

‘Get out!’  If the figure could shout in the water, she would, ‘Go, run, young one! I’ll distract them!’

 

The woman ascends. In her haze of foggy waters, the submarine watches the lights direct themselves at the unknown Kansen. 

 

Fearing for its master’s life, the rigging speeds faster, but U-47 tries to command him to slow down. But the beast buckles under its direct orders. It needs to override its master’s wants with both of their lives. Ignoring her rigging incessant cries to leave and save herself, U-47 resurfaces. She needs answers.

 

“Who are you!” Now shouting through the water, bobbing in the water U-47 paddles to stabilize herself, “Answer me! You have Iron Blood markings! What are these things?”

 

Tendrils from the dark fire at the pair. Only for them to weave and dodge. For U-47, she barely scrapes by a hair. On the other hand, the unknown Kansen moves effortlessly - shifting her weight and body as if she knows.

 

“My name was U-35. I’m sorry, young one. We tried,” the woman shakes her head. Ancient guns fire off, and old torpedoes run loose, “Go back to Berlin! To your officers! To the people! They’re coming for you, young one!”

 

Then it comes. A large tendril made of cords and covered in seaweed wrapped around the unknown woman. In one last cry, she flails valiantly. But it only tightens and tugs, dragging her underwater. And all U-47 could do was claw uselessly for a hand.

 

As her only other ally in this strange place gets taken away, so too do the threats around her stop. Dragging down the unknown woman and darkening the sea. 

 

U-47 dives back into the water. Seeing a window of hope and safety, the submariner moves and moves. Not ever looking back or seeing what happened, not wanting to find a bloody sight or worse.

 

Retreating from the strange site, she checks her internal systems. Anything to make sure she and her rigging are safe. Hiding behind one of the wrecks of the mass-produced battleships, she resurfaces inside the empty husk’s remains. Beached on a jagged rock, the gaping maw made below the water gave her access to respite. Into the depths of the ship as her rigging lugs her in. U-47 hoisting her rigging inside without trying to make more noise.

 

Discovering a breached corridor, crooked and uneven, the submarine sits on the wall. Breathing heavily as she checks her riggings’ damage.

 

Her rigging fins are undamaged, and the beast still breathes life from its flickering eyes. However, below her usual seat is a burned gash across the hull. Touching her side, U-47 feels the cut on her hip. Whatever that thing was…what she faced…did enough damage to affect her and her rigging.

 

Sitting against the wall, U-47’s rigging situates itself in a better position. Pointing its open jaw towards the hole they entered. Ready to fire upon the thing that threatened its master’s life.

 

Like any of her other missions, she closes her eyes momentarily. Letting her rigging takeover as she gathers her thoughts once more. Bubbling little breaths as she steels herself again, remembering her mission, purpose, and task. Like all her solo missions in the deep blue, she will come home once she volunteers much to her superior’s protests.

 

Determined to rein in her fear, the submarine recalls her objectives. To refocus her mind to ease the pain. Whispering her orders, her purpose, and what she wants to do. U-47 admits there was plenty of pride in holding the title of the ‘Bull of Scapa Flow”. She may loathe the dark depths, but it doesn’t mean she disregards her history.

 

Anything to dull the pain and beating in her heart.

 

She breathes in and out, through her nose and out her mouth. Her wound was cut deep but not fatal. Slashing through her wetsuit into her flesh, scraping her hip bone. At least, she assumed so, for every time she rotates her hip, the pain affects her significantly. To keep the shock pumping, her mind wanders as she searches compartments on her rigging.

 

Her mission was supposed to be simple.

 

Infiltrate the Siren activity around the perimeter of the former Scandinavian Kingdom.

 

Investigate the unknown activity within the quarantine zone.

 

The minefield was supposed to be several kilometers thick, an estimated thirty minutes tops, and then exploration numbering around several hours to a day’s worth of information gathering, then back once all is observed.

 

“Simple reconnaissance,” she mumbles out loud, now out of the water and breathing in the fresh air, “Simple, my ass….”

 

She removes the med kit from a hidden compartment and opens a black box. Inside is a wrapped piece of glowing metal and bandages. Waterproofed with a unique adhesive, she throws the bits into the maw of her rigging. Tasting the medicinal metal explicitly made for him, it chews happily.

 

Knowing her rigging will be fine, U-47 then dresses the cut on her side. Applying chemicals to help with the infection and using what she can to slow the bleeding. Not deep enough to render her immobile but enough to still hurt and limit her movement.

 

Gooey mixture sinks in her cut and stings, “Eh….” she seethes, biting down on her a bite she fashioned from one of her belts.

 

Time moves forward. As her rigging’s damages improve, so does U-47’s wound. The repair kit works wonders as the pain subsides instantly. Through their connection, U-47 smiles at her recovery. No longer feeling the immediate danger. One thought gives her back the urgency and kicks her mind back into gear.

 

She needs to get her data back to base. Warn the others what is coming.

 

“...what to do…” U-47 spits at the water, “...can you make it?”

 

Her rigging nods its head, reassuring its master with a nudge to her hand.

 

“Good,” She pulls her scarf and stores away the kit, “I knew you could. Let’s go home.”

 

She listens to the battle outside, still waging on between whoever the unknown submariner and the creature that attacked her. Guns firing and monsters roaring, it grows more distant as the empty hull only vaguely pings the sounds to her location. Vigor refills her movements, and U-47 pushes herself and her rigging back into action. Limping towards the hole, the speed of getting back into the water is slower than when they escaped it. Focused solely on her goal to get back, U-47 slips effortlessly in.

 

Back in the water and ready to leave, both rigging and handler go back through where they came from. Racing past the mutilated bodies of long-since-dead sailors and husks of dead Sirens, U-47 brushes them with reckless speed and guile.

 

She moves and moves through the darkened waters and the blackened seas. Refusing to look back as every part of her screams to ignore it.

 

Then it latches onto her.

 

Her leg, and her rigging, too, are caught.

 

Peering down to her side, she sees the protrusion that cut her earlier jumps from the deepest parts of the seas. Made of messy wires and coated metal fibers. Coming from some unknown beast, it threatens to pull her as it tightens its barbed tendril around her.

 

She kicks and kicks, but it tightens more around her limb.

 

Stopped in their retreat, in one hurrah of desperation- her rigging bites into the wires - gnashing it apart with its sharp teeth.

 

At this moment, she glimpses up to see the shadows above.

 

They are coming.

 

Then she revs up her rigging again.

 

She propels herself forward and dashes away.

 

Away, away, away. Faster against the waters, clawing through the depths, and not until she feels her heart stop beating does she bother to slow down, but she still refuses to look back.

 

U-47 keeps going as far, as fast, as much as her engines allow it. 

 

Her next destination is the base; she must report to the Kommadant.

 

She finished her mission; instead of satisfaction, there is only dread.

Chapter 3: Trapped Rooks

Summary:

Elsewhere, away from the battles and on patrol - two sisters share a moment - a moment of calmness among a storm of clouds gathering around the board.

“Rah!”

 

One swift kick to a metal door and a large ding echo in the air. Her hands massage the long alabaster hair flowing down her back and onto her shoulders. One good eye was left in use, the other covered in an eyepatch, close in contorting frustration. Not content in her frustration, she offers one more kick to the door.

 

It wouldn’t take long for the door to respond back. Or one swipe to the one-eyed woman’s back.

 

“Sister, please.” She barks at her while pushing her glasses, “Scharnhorst, I know you’re bored, but would you please stop kicking me? I can still feel that.”

 

“Sorry, Gneisenau,” Scharnhorst hastily apologizes for more out of habit than actual meaning, “But we’ve been out here for six hours, and nothing has happened all day!”

 

She extends her arms out to the open blue. Water stretches for lengths around them and below the railing of the ship they stand on. The hull belongs to the one who leans over its railing. Shrugging at her sister’s clear discontent with one novel in hand.

 

“I told you to bring a book to entertain yourself, sis. You only have yourself to blame.” Gneisenau closes her novel and pockets it between her breasts, “Why not try riding out on your rigging instead of loafing around on my hull, hmm?”

 

“Tried it, got bored after the first two hours,” the sibling huffs, “Besides, you’re the only person I can talk to besides our destroyer escort.”

 

“Go bother Z46 then,” Gneisenau points out to the other hull floating further ahead, “I’m trying to read my novel.”

 

“And she’s playing some sort of handheld game. I think she would rather be left alone,” Scharnhorst protests while her sister rolls her eyes, “Eh, she isn’t much for talking anyways.”

 

Gneisenau scrunches her face and shrugs, “Yeah, you’re right. She can be too quiet over the radio.”

 

“Other than her.” Scharnhorst leans over the railing, “You usually have something interesting on you. What’s the novel you’re reading?”

 

“This?” She pulls out the book, “A book, written by an Eagle Unioner named Ernest Hemingway. Not thrilling for your tastes.”

 

“The Old Man and the Sea?” The sister squinted at the title and artwork etched on the hardcover, “Yeesh, looks like a fishing story.”

 

“Correct,” Gneisenau nods approvingly, “Again, not really your taste.”

 

“Maybe you’re right,” she turns around and leans back on the railing facing the bridge above, “I really liked ‘A Farewell To Arms.’ But Hemingway as a person is more interesting anyways.”

 

“Oh?” A head perks up in complete shock, “I didn’t know you read his works.”

 

“Hmm? Only the copy we had in the library. I visited the base library once looking for Z23 about one of our exercises. She had his biography sitting out in the open, and I got curious,” she stretched her arms and yawned, “The guy was a legend. Supposed to be a spy, author, and toughest man who ever lived. Survived everything thrown at him than I could ever imagine. Goes to show even humans can be as resilient as us.”

 

“You…do know how he died, right?” She puts the novel away, more interested in her sister’s reactions. Not before marking her page with a makeshift bookmark, “Very tragic for someone of his caliber.”

 

Huh. Scharnhorst opens her mouth to say it, but her mind remains blank, “Uhh, I don’t remember. It was a shotgun to his head. He could survive anything but not a gunshot.”

 

“Suicide,” Sensing hesitation in her sister’s voice, Gneisenau dryly answers, “He took his own life, sis.”

 

The older sister opens and closes her mouth. “Shit, that’s really gloomy. I thought he went out fighting. Not by his own hand.”

 

Adjusting her position and watching the rolling waves around them, Gneisenau thinks aloud, “Theories point to electrotherapy going wrong. Mental problems mixed in with a botched operation. I don’t need to explain how it could’ve led to his death.”

 

“Yeah, I can put two and two together,” Hitting a lull in the topic. Finding a subject other than fighting, Gneisenau pivots the topic to what she remembers about the author, “He was a Great War veteran; I’m not surprised he walked out of there with a lot of scars.”

 

“Really makes sense, huh? No wonder he could do so much.” Scharnhorst grimaces at the thought of such times. Despite the end, She finds a scrap of solace in his history: "I have no clue how people walked out of it into another one.”

 

“You and I know this very well, sister,” Gneisenau pushes up her glasses again after lowering her head in contemplation, “I talk to Seydlitz about it in my free time. Very extraordinary.”

 

“Ugh,” the sibling props her elbows, “I mean, this conversation is sad enough as it is, but… I’ve been wondering too. Do you remember hearing about those riots going on back home? Protesting the war and all that gook?”

 

“At Kiel and Wilhelmshaven? Yes, I’ve read the newspapers,” The sibling sighs. Watching the news used to be interesting and a learning experience, but the depression touched her mood, “The Admiral handled it very well, and the new civilian government seems to be competent. Girls sometimes whisper about it, you know. Hushed tones of doubts, worries, and fears. Knowing how the people back home have many nasty things to say about us.”

 

“Yeah, lots of creative names. ‘Boat whores’, ‘devil ships,’ hell, get this,” Scharnhorst leans closer as if not to let anyone hear even though they’re the only two in earshot, “A new name is going around and word on the vine it’s about a particular cruiser.”

 

“Walking Breasts.”

 

“Oh, you know?”

 

Again, rolling her eyes again in the same conversation, Gneisenau nods, “Heinrich complained about it to a bunch of us in the mess hall this morning. She was a tad proud of the comment. Honestly, very apt for her uniform.”

 

“Sis, we aren’t any better,” Scharnhorst squeezes her breast, “You see? This isn’t leaving much to the imagination.”

 

“Sister, please,” not expecting her sister to effortlessly rub her orbs together, “I don’t need a demonstration.”

 

“What? I’m just saying.” She snorts, folding her arms at her sister’s reaction, “Like I was talking about earlier. It feels weird to me. All that stuff with Hemingway.”

 

Feeling the warmth in her cheeks leave her in peace, Gneisenau raises an eyebrow, “I do not understand the connection you’re making. Hemingway and riots. Suicide and the world around us.”

 

There is a rhyme, but Scarnhorst fails to articulate it in a form that makes sense. Mulling, no longer out of impatience for action and to deal with boredom, decides it’s best to think about it anyways, then leave it festering.

 

“Suicide, right?” Her one eye softens. If she’s going to tackle her thoughts, it’s a place to start regardless of how lofty an issue it is, “Really sucks how it’s a thing people do.”

 

Bracing herself for the topic, Gneisenau considered many topics and subjects her sister would delve into. She knows sports and festivals are likely candidates and already scrawled off politics and intellectual debates. They serve more as headaches than worthwhile endeavors, even sometimes annoying Gneisenau, who wants to streamline things efficiently. Never did she think about the possibility she would cover such a hard topic, especially from her sister.

 

Boredom does wonders for the brain.

 

“...yes, “With glasses pushed up, she carefully thinks on it, “I don’t think about it nor consider it a worthwhile subject anyone entertains.”

 

“Right?” Her older sister agrees, “Maybe it’s just me. Maybe there are other Kansen’ that think the same. But don’t you think it’s ironic that humans can do such a thing yet give us a chance to live?”

 

“This is such a can of worms,” Gneisenau looks out to the horizon, “Now, I’m regretting letting you come on my ship….”

 

“Seriously, Gneis, I want your thoughts on this. It’s a bummer, sure, but I want to have some peace of mind. And you tend to be precise and blunt with it, so whatcha think? Am I overthinking things, or maybe I need to think about something else…?”

 

Pulling out a lollipop and unwrapping it, she sticks it into her mouth, then pops it out. Bubblegum.

 

“Go on,” she pops it again, “I’m listening.”

 

“Okay, so,” Scharnhorst let her mind flow freely. Gotta make a muscle move, whether it be her body or her mind; as much as she doesn’t like wild complicated topics - she hates boredom more.

 

“So Hemingway, right? He fought in the Great War. He saw the trenches, and he saw the worst humanity can offer. So, why does he get out, live a long ass life - go through so much pain, have four wives, and eventually just…give up. It sounds so crazy to me. Go through all of it only to throw it all away.”

 

Gneisenau listens intently, connecting a few dots to the bigger picture, “I see how this interests you. What you’re saying is, it’s so pointless to fight through life only to give up in the end?”

 

“Exactly!” She jumps up and points at her sister. Strangely excited, “Damn, sis, that’s what I’m trying to figure out!”

 

Suddenly, a very worrying thought came to her. One that made Gneisenau bite on her lollipop. Breaking it apart far before it needed to be.

 

“Are you worried,” she pauses to chew and swallow chunky pieces, “Are you worried about us? About fighting?”

 

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

 

The younger sister gulps, deciding to say it, then move on, “You know? Giving up?”

 

Scharnhorst blinks. Out of the siblings, Gneisenau was more prepared for hard thinking and complex ideas. Admittedly, she may not be as thorough or articulate as her sister. On the other hand, she liked simpler things, easier things to understand because it makes it less of a headache and pain. And in this instance, she realized her implication.

 

And thus, she laughs.

 

“Pfftttt,” Scharnhorst shakes her head, giggling, “Nah, I’m not going to do that! No, what I’m trying to say, and with your help, it makes sense - all those protests, that opposition back home. They all think it’s pointless. All of us are out here, risking our sweet asses for people who more or less fear us. So why bother with it, huh? Why don’t we give up?”

 

“Err, I don’t know what you mean.” The passion oozing from her is strangely alien to Gneisena, “Yes, I do question it sometimes. I mean, despite what the news tells us, some support us. Many people want to live and see what life has to offer.”

 

“Yeah, you’re getting it!” The two begin to smile, mostly due to the enthusiasm oozing from Scharnhorst, “Look around us!”

 

She waves her arms to the endless sea, “We have all this ocean! Ocean breeze, salty seas, and free time for ourselves. So much, in fact, I’m pretty sure it’s not all explored. I’m a goddamn ship; I can go anywhere! See the world, see what’s out there! Humans, people, they can move and travel and see what we can see! Or touch. Or hear, eh, maybe if they don’t have ears…”

 

“So what you mean is,” Gneisenau interrupts, “You’re wondering why people would give up after fighting for so long? Why miss what life has in store?”

 

“Not exactly,” she stuns her sister, “Because what am I fighting for then.”

 

“...what?”

 

“Gneis, I don’t know if you clued in on me, but,” the older sister swallows, “I don’t know what to do once this is over. I like fighting, and this is all I ever know. Is that why he kept going? Hemingway, right? He found love again and again and fought life tooth and nail. But he gave up…”

 

Emotions don’t come easily to either of them, expressing them sober or being able to sit down and talk. This is a rare moment for Gneisenau. Her sister is showing a side of herself she has only ever seen on drunken weekends. She shows this only in the most isolated moments - and it tugs on Gneisenau’s heart.

 

“I don’t want to give up, sis.” Scharnhorst hugs her shoulders, hiding her eye away from her sister, “I love fighting. That’s all I know. And I don’t know if I’m fighting for a good future or where I’ll be cast aside again.”

 

Knowing what to do, Gneisenau goes behind her sister. Arms linked around to bring them closer despite the protests. Hugging her older sister and leaning her head on her shoulder.

 

“You aren’t fighting for nothing, Scharn.” She murmurs in her ear, “You have me.”

 

In a meek and low tone, she whispers back, “And what happens if I don’t have you?”

 

Gneisenau hugs her tighter. She is unsure of how to respond to it. How to answer the possibilities and face the scary reality of really dying. The METAs have proved there are dozens of times when the kansen have fought alone. Two of them, both being versions of themselves, have shown them this. However, they never stopped fighting, not until the last shell.

 

They are in a war, and not everyone survives. Both of them understand this, and secretly, Gneisenau shares the same worries.

 

“I won’t leave you,” sister to sister, heart to heart, “I promise you. We’ll fight for this future together.”

 

Remaining as they are as waters move and the wind blows. Scharnhorst’s mind clears, and her chest is less tight. The brief moment of sadness adds an odd relief to her. Lifting weight and leaving vertigo in emotions.

 

“And all because some old dude who wrote your book offed himself,” Scharnhorst murmurs, “See, this happens when I can’t work with my hands. I think sappy stuff like this.”

 

Giggling and laughing together, Gneisenau stares at her sister. Not sure what to make of the long-winded realization or the fact this began because of the novel she was reading.

 

Feeling the breeze in her hair, an idea pops up, finally and possibly breaking the monotony.

 

“Still, nothing is going on. Hey, ever played checkers? I have a box in the officer’s quarters.”

 

“Eh, sure.” Scharnhorst shrugs, “Oh, can I be red this time?”

 

Then there goes the slight annoyance, “Fine, but if you lose, I’m switching.”

 

---

 

Z46 puts down her binoculars. Having attached her gaming device to a portable battery, her attention drew her to watching the two sisters to see if she can guess what they are saying from a distance. Partially regretting she did, surmising their words turned into making up her own story. Putting words into their mouths as she watches things get intense and emotional.

 

Z46 scouts the horizon and watches the waters. 

 

She has this constant itch in the back of her mind. One tells her there’s something happening but her environment is telling her otherwise. Clear skies, lack of activity. Hell, she can hear music playing from atop Gneisenau’s hull. 

 

Now, they’re playing checkers. 

 

“What the hell is happening over there?”

Chapter 4: Opening

Summary:

Hipper and Adalbert are back at the base working on riggings. Something comes forth, throwing their plans out of place.

"Yoo-hoo!" Metal bangs vibrate, "Anyone here? Don't worry. I'm a mechanic!"

 

She whistles, “Hello?”

 

The rancid stench of sweat thickened the warehouse air. And the taste of salt water diluted with oil is a shared workspace for ship mechanics. Weaving through unfinished projects and laid out riggings. Cruiser turrets sit atop blackened cloth. Boxes and crates filled with screws and bolts line the walls in neatly organized towers. Power tools hang on the opposite end. Each section is taped lines along the floor for all the different machines.

 

“Yo! Hipper!”

 

Following her greeting, Adalbert hears a loud bang and then a wince. Off to the corner are deactivated riggings lacking their armaments and turrets. Depowered serpentine machines hang numbly from stiff interlocking chains. Four long metallic armored beasts follow their master's orders while being stabilized.

 

“Hah?! Adalbert? Jeez, you scared me.” 

 

She traces the sound of her voice to the sounds of wheels creaking. Adalbert extends a hand to lift her from her wheeled flat.

 

“Sorry ‘bout that.” The newcomer hands her a clean cloth, “Are you alright?

 

She messily takes the cloth and rubs her face with it. Her sweat-drenched hair has specks of grime and streaks of black. Hipper's face was blackened so much it was impossible to see her expression. Adalbert furrows her brow as Hipper's utter contempt and dripping irritation are evident. 

 

"Yeah, of course, I'm okay," Hipper's sneer softens as she wrinkles her nose, "Hey, do me a favor and grab my bottle over there."

 

Obliging, Adalbert picks up the black sports bottle and tosses it to the cruiser. Catching with one hand, Hipper pivots around her until she looks down. Plopping behind her on an armless office chair. Scratching her face in quiet irritation, she takes her time to gulp. Every so often, using the rag to remove some of the black bits from her usually blond hair.

 

 “Rough job?”

 

Hipper held a finger up while gulping her water. Putting it down, she sighs, "Eugen. Our rigging isn't the most robust in the navy, and she keeps trying to kick the Sirens. She treats this like a sport! Yeah, she looks cool, but when you do it enough, it rattles their gears too much."

 

The heavy cruiser rolls her shoulders, "Long story made extremely short, she somehow broke the turning mechanism in her turrets. Causing joints to go stiff and shatter several bolts during our morning exercises. Barely got offshore before she stood stiff as a board," Hipper begins grumbling under her breath. Adalbert acts as if she did not hear it, "Serves her right for calling me one."

 

Rubbing her chin, Adalbert brightens as she recalls her own likened memories, “Siblings. Can’t live with them or without.”

 

“Heinrich can’t be that bad…” Hipper blinks and presses her lips for a quick thought, “Reminds me of one of mine, Blucher, in many ways.”

 

"You could be right, and one sibling can't be as bad as the amount you have to worry about," The grey-haired woman knowingly nods, "By the way, I received orders from the Kommadant. Urgent."

 

Adalbert takes a letter from her bag and hands it to the mechanic. Admiral Hipper squints before taking it. Reading deeply for the first time, pausing, spitting at a bucket, then reading again. She puts the paper down her, wrinkling and creasing the edges.

 

“Herrin Tirpitz herself.” Mixing her surprise with mumbling, “Great. Wunderbar.”

 

“She will be here next week. Herr Kommadant told me we have a major operation coming up soon, and she'll be directing it alongside him. He'll be running inspections here. So, I'm here to give a helping hand~."

 

The cruiser gulps and nods slowly. Hipper breathes in while rolling her shoulders. A brief pout overcomes her before she snaps back into reality. Returning to her usual irritated expression.

 

"Plenty of work, Adalbert," Hipper throws up a thumb at herself, "Lookie, I'm the base's main mechanic. Really glad I have you on board now. Two years since we worked together at Kiel."

 

"I heard, " Adalbert shrugs, putting down her bag and flexing her fingers, “Backlog?”

 

"Whole base's fleet, Adal," Hipper stands up and waves her arms to the room, "Over a dozen turrets with equipment malfunctions and scheduled refits. All the work needed to keep me from ever seeing the light of day," She frowns, "You can start anywhere, honestly. Maybe go for the middle row since I haven't even touched the paperwork for them yet."

 

“Ah,” her fellow cruiser cracks her neck, “Glad I came along, huh?” 

 

Hipper stares into space, “You sure you can do this? You did recently get here and everything.”

 

Opening up her bag, Adalbert reveals a hidden toolbox and an assortment of wrenches. Showing off the tool belt strapped around her waist. Proud of her display and preparation, she takes one of the wrenches off her belt and stands up straight.

 

"Maintenance is my gig. Especially when the peeps need it," Adalbert gets her gloves out, "You okay if I get started on organizing things first? Knowing where my tools help with workflow."

 

"Sure, what works better as long as it doesn't bother me," she points a wrench to a table, "Check the ledger for the most urgent ones. I think Z23 had some problems with her launchers and needed them to get checked. She's scheduled for a mission tomorrow morning."

 

"I'll get started," Adalbert approaches an open yellowed paged book. She clears her throat before flipping the page, "You okay?"

 

Although weary and tired, Hipper stammers back, "Y-yeah. I'm- Th-thank you." She waves her off with her head already facing toward the ground.

 

She hurries back under her current problem and hums a very out-of-tune sailor song. Shrugging at her strange reaction, Adalbert doesn't mind the work. 

 

They work for hours. Sweat pours in the heated room alongside the occasional bursts of steam coming out of pistons and bored riggings. Adalbert minds her business, busying herself with the new components and tasks, from project to project, and working on the next thing set before. Their rhythm continues even as the lights outside turn from bright yellow to the burning embers of dusk.

 

Hours later, Hipper calls for a break. Sweating and wiping away droplets, Adalbert dangles her legs off one of the tables she's sitting on. Chairs are covered in her many tools for the job – having prepped them for another day's worth of labor. Hipper sits ajar from her while eating a sandwich made of beef and rye.

 

“Mmm, thanks.” Hipper mumbles between bites, “Think you’re up for the rest of this week? You cut down my workload by several days.”

 

“Hmm, we should be able to finish off the destroyers tomorrow,” Adalbert puts down a checklist and board, removing a pair of glasses and fogging them with her breath. Wiping away the smudges from hours of sitting in a heated area, “You know, I found something in the rows. The blue tarp in the corner over there.”

 

Blinking, Hipper swallows one last bite, "Blue tarp?”

 

"Over there," Adalbert points with a pencil, "Big enough box for a rigging. I didn't see it on the ledger, so I didn't know if you happened to have any clue?"

 

Hipper leans back and looks up, shaking the crumbles off her lap, "Beats me. It appeared here one morning when I was off. I think it's the Kommadant’s.”

 

“Herr Kommandant?" Adalbert voices back, raising one brow, "New weapons project, perhaps? I didn't look at it too much."

 

"Not sure, really," Hipper stands up and stretches, "I asked him about it, and he told me it's to remain there 'until further notice.' It has a name scrawled on the side from some old Scandinavian language. Whatever the hell that means, it's deadweight in an already crowded warehouse."

 

Adalbert accepts her response and cannot question things unless she needs to. Her main concern is the property damage – an opinion she keeps for her sister's sake. Curiosity does nibble at her thoughts, and she lingers on the box a little longer.

The mechanic would've left the box alone if the nailed box didn't rattle the contents inside. Or, from what she sees, the content's moving the box itself.

 

“You saw that?” Adalbert focuses intensely on the box, “Hipper.”

 

"What?" The blond lifts her head again and bumps against a turret hanging over, "Ow! What?! Adalbert?"

 

"Shh, look." She points a wrench at the box, and Hipper rubs the back of her head.

 

"Nothing is going on over there." Her eyes see the sturdy box.

 

“No, it moved.” Adalbert insisted, “You have to watch it first.”

 

"I don't see what-" The box rattles again, and the dust shaking off is more apparent, "Uhh…."

 

“See! You saw it! Shh!”

 

“Hey, you’re the one talking!”

 

Whatever banter possibly coming out of their barbs turns utterly silent as the box moves again—vibrating and bumping around as the corners scratch the floor. Both of them glance at each other before giving each other a knowing nod. With a summoned weapon in hand, Hipper calls her rigging – lying on a wooden pallet. Dead hollow eyes burst into flames as they come to their master.

 

They stand confident in handling the strange phenomenon. Armed, loaded, and alert - Hipper makes a hand signal, and Adalbert affirms with her own - in unison, the two approach the box.

 

Cracks on the box slowly shatter the exterior. Wooden pieces shake violently off in crackling breaks. Hidden behind a layer of hard plastic cushioned by white foam. Whatever is inside is trying to break out, and the two cruisers load their guns and prepare their weapons. Adalbert mimics Hipper's actions, her revitalized rigging growls and chomps. Living machines seek the threat potentially harmful to their master.

 

Instead, bursting out of the box is first a tooth. Then a whole jawline shatters the containers. And exploding in every direction, debris flies across the shop. Shielding their faces, either with their arms or their rigging, the two kansen face off against-

 

Frozen bystanders watch a hovering hulk hum while clicking jointed bolts. Casing the surroundings by rotating its large head, the serotine creature extends rubbery flaps from its back. Lacking any colors besides worn gray and rusting black. Reeling the neck left and right, the dimming four slots for vision flicker. Along its head is an open gash, a gaping wound.

 

“A rigging?” Adalbert blinks rapidly, “Hey, why is it on.”

 

“Is it anyone you recognize?”

 

Hipper purses her lips, “No, not one I know of.”

 

"Hey," She calls out to it, "Probably a malfunction. I'll turn it off and-"

 

“Hipper, wait!”

 

“Huh?"

 

'Duck!' She wanted to say before a large tail burst out and slammed her stomach.

 

"Ack!" Hipper's arms go up in the air and fly into a stack of crates. The jaws of her rigging messily stick their heads out. Half dazed and half focused on the float serpent in the room.

 

"Oh, shit!" Adalbert ducks, "Rogue rigging! Grab him, boys!"

 

Detaching from her sides and shooting forward. Two large open jaws strike at the revealed rigging. Both sink their jaws into the crazed machine only to aggravate the wild rigging. It surprises them by whipping its tail off with a defeating crack, flinging one of Adalbert's rigging to a wall leaving it scrambling back. Anti-gravity allows it to float around in time for its sibling to slam into him.

 

"Like Eisen…great," Adalbert brandishes an oversized wrench, "Hipper, you okay over there!"

 

"Augh…" moans the downed ship. Her rigging thrashes around.

 

“I’ll get help! Hang on!” Losing balance and being thrown off her legs, she hops back up to see her rigging rolling the floor, “Dang it, guys.”

 

She pinches the bridge of her nose and then helps her thrashing rigging. Hoisting the two by grabbing the barrels of their turrets, "Okay, kiddos, Eisen Trap, Go!"

 

Hearing their master, the two sentient jaws clack their jaws. Prompting Adalbert to smile at their version of a human or kansen's version of a shrug.

 

"What? Oh, right. Heinrich's line. Ugh, she's rubbing off on me too much," she communicates to them and points to the rigging, who's now bashing its head at the warehouse door, "I have to call for backup! Keep it busy!" "

 

Heeding their master's orders, the rigging shoots forward. One latches onto the tail, and its brother aims for the serpent's neck. Writhing in its attempts to escape, the beast from the box roars. The noise shakes the rafters and tools within the warehouse holding the Iron Blood's gear.

 

Picking herself up from the floor, Adalbert scrambles over turned-over toolboxes. She avoids flying objects by hugging the floor and wall. Moving right past the red switch for fires, the blue switch for explosions, and the green for oil spills - the mechanic punches the glass containing the black button. She presses into it and pulls. Her action leads to the multiple flashing lights and alarms blaring around the room. Intercoms erupt to tell a message, a warning of the danger inside.

 

“Rogue rigging! Warehouse E3! Rogue rigging! Warehouse E3!”

 

She repeats the message. Two, three, four times. Each time she did the rigging thrashed the door apart. Her rigging struggles to keep its grip around it. In one more major defiant roar, the rigging grows in size - its head punctures the warehouse door and slams Adalbert's rigging into the ground.

 

"Boys!" The worried owner runs to the dazed pair. Her rigging took on damaged fins and dented teeth. Gritting her teeth, Adalbert holds out her hand.

 

"Alright, you Schweinehund!" Rematerializing in a bright light, the two beasts reform to their master. Linked to their lady, turrets turn in satisfying clicks and preparation.

 

Recovered from the twin advance, the prominent servant flexes its wings. Whipping the tail side to side, Adalbert notes what it resembles. A wyvern with no legs or arms. This beast floats with torn, rubbery wings. Armed and ready, Adalbert isn't the first to fire. Smoking erupts from a very angry blonde.

 

"Hey!" Hipper stands an inert rigging, "Months of work! All my organization is gone! You asshole!"

 

"Hipper!" Adalbert shouts, "Are you okay?!"

 

She touches the blood seeping down the side of her head, "I’m alive, thank you very much!"

 

"Good to know," the cruiser shakes her head, yet still too concerned to care for the barb on her reply, “Can you fight?”

 

Hipper throws a thumbs up, "I’ll keep him down until help arrives!”

 

“Then I got the wings!” 

 

Roaring wildly at the two, the aggressive rigging slinks its metal plating. Two turrets form from beneath its wings and point directly at the two mechanics. Bracing for impact, the two cruisers prepare to fire back, with Hipper reloading. Expecting a shot or two, the rogue rigging pauses. Clicking noises enrages it as it roars once more.

 

“Fire!”

 

Shells launch, and the building shakes. Taking all the shots with his wings and body, the rigging shoulders each hit. Being so close in proximity, the intense sounds of war which would deafen any human. Not Adalbert or Hipper. However, they do still hear the ringing being so enclosed.

 

It retreats in a way neither wants. Piercing its tail into the closed door, it rips open the entrance. Tearing off the door with ease and letting the dimming evening light shine. Magnifying the beast's presence and blinding the two momentarily.

 

Adalbert has to raise her arms as she hears heavy beats against the wind. She fires off her turrets towards the wings. Hitting both of them, which causes it to fall to the ground. Picking at its wounds for the shells and letting the two recover. Despite the obvious holes in its wings, it still flaps them, rising slowly from the ground.

 

"Damn it. There goes the warehouse!" Adalbert's smile turns to astonishment, "Crap, so he really can fly."

 

"For an older-looking model, he sure has a lot of cool toys," Hipper complains loudly.

 

"Lots of rusted metal," Adalbert chimes in, "I don't know about older; he has a lot of Siren-looking tech on him." 

 

The rigging surveys the area and sees the ocean before it. Turning its head back to the two, who dug their feet deep for another barrage, it instead looks at the ground. Debris litters the ground from its escape. Eyeballing the ground quickly, the rigging picks up the door so carelessly flung. Slurping the metal into his maw-like soup.

 

Reforming before their eyes, the wounds on their wings and body disappear.

 

"Is it healing itself with scrap?!" Hipper keeps her surprise in check, "Great.”

 

Adalbert points to its head as it shakes off slag, “Still standing.”

 

“I can see it, thank you very much.”

 

Adalbert ignores the jab and turns her head around at the empty base, making a face, “Where’s everyone at? This place was packed a few hours ago!”

 

“Exercises, patrols, and missions,” Hipper explains, “Those who are getting their riggings fixed up are with their hulls at sea, watching a war game Herr Kommadant is running with the fleet.”

 

“Basically, we’re screwed,” Adalbert bites her mouth, “Got any ideas?”

 

Shaking her head, their conversation breaks with a chunk of dirt flying in their direction. Creative with its attacks, the rigging digs into the ground with mouthfuls of earth. Flinging it at the pair as they run and jump to avoid hits. Being on land, they don't have the mobility with their riggings as they do on the water. More dirt goes flying, and more ground is given.

 

With an ocean to its back and two kansen to its front, the rogue rigging tries to run - instead, it is met with another volley of cannon fire, followed by the presence of two other kansen.

 

"Of course," Adalbert squirms while two arms keep her locked, "Hey, Heinrich."

 

“Rushed here as soon as we heard the alarm!” Resembling each other aside from attire, Heinrich’s beaming smile turns serious as she summons her rigging to her, Eisen, who keeps its head wearily squared at the recovering rogue entity.

 

“Hmm, when I said, you’re a mess this morning, I didn’t mean that literally, sister.”

 

Knowing who it is, the petite woman puts her hands on her hip, "Shut up, this wasn't my fault!"

 

“Sure, sure.” The second arrival flickers her hair back, “Quite a rigging you have there, a friend of yours?”

 

“Does it look like a friend?” Hipper’s cheeks redden, “Damn it, why do you have to be like this when you’re in a good mood.”

 

Giggling, the smug aura radiating from the teaser hardens, “Made contact with Kommadant Weber. The others are coming. I radioed for all available forces to converge on the base. .”

 

Craning her neck forward, she frowns, “Hipper, you’re bleeding.”

 

“I’m fine, Eugen,” the blond scoffs, “Thanks for the assist. This is all we got?”

 

Her sibling's lips curl into a grin, "Look up."

 

On cue, a deafening boom comes from the heavens. Descending from the clouds are fighter planes strafing the rogue rigging. Two make their mark and hit their targets, pulling their noses up in time. One is not so lucky and is grabbed from the sky. Metal scrunches between the rogue rigging’s teeth. But its meal wouldn’t be enjoyed for long.

 

Roaring from the air, ears are covered, and faces look up in awe. Descending to the group is a giant metal dragon. Levitating on its wings – made from the hull of a carrier plane. Pebbles bounce, and the earth shakes as huge claws land on the ground. Drawing the entire focus of the rigging being close to the same size.

 

"Bow before me!" A voice erupts from behind the great steed, her horns glistening and sneering. Riding atop her steed, “Go my aid, take it down!”

 

“Jeez, August,” Hipper narrows her eyes from the sun, “Been a long time since she came down from her castle.”

 

“The Admiral sent her! Dunno why,” Heinrich smiles widely, “And we need all the help we can get!”

 

“Now the real party started!” Adalbert grins alongside her.

 

Hipper and Eugen agree quietly, both sharing glances at each other. Sisters at arms and tandem fire their guns in support. Damaging the rigging again, only to scoop up more pieces from shattered tables to inert rigging spare parts. Although they were harming the rigging, the machine's sights switched to the dragon.

 

Flaring its internal engines in a sheer show of force to the new challenger - the rogue rigging rears its head. Biting off more metal from the ground, the rigging reveals its turrets again. Firing its guns right at the rider. Quickly reacting, her rigging shifts its weight to prevent the shot from hurting its master.

 

Retaliating, Parseval's rigging fires a large blast from its maw. Her arm rises to direct, akin to an officer ordering troops to fire; she commands her authority quickly and confidently. A cyclone of heated plasma spews forth, landing directly at the rigging's wings. Completely melting them in place and causing them to screech in pain.

 

The other girls weren't idle. Acting as fire support, the Admiral Class sisters Eugen and Hipper fire around the area of the rigging. Preventing it from grabbing any more scrap from the ground and dismantling whatever is within reach. Adalbert and Heinrich, with their riggings unhooked from their bodies, have their rigging circle the beast. They pick at the rogue rigging while their master’s chain down the beast with anchors.

 

"Eisen!"

 

Heinrich's screech breaks Adalbert's concentration. The beast had one of their riggings in its maw. Said prey, Eisen, fights valiantly between two rows of sharpened teeth, but the teeth sink deeper. Breaking into the top layer of its skin - the terrible sound of scratching metal scrapes. Everyone turns their attention to removing the rigging's grip—their efforts proving in vain as Eisen viciously bites back.

 

“Eisen, no!” Heinrich’s face contorts to worry, “He’s…its hurting him!”

 

“We have to free him!” Her sister matches her feelings, “Damn, Hipper why is it so hard to take this one down!”

 

“Wait,” Eugen asks a question between shots, “What happens if it eats him?”

 

“We don’t know,” Hipper putters out, narrowly avoiding a whip of the tail “It could heal from eating scrap…”

 

“…then it could do much more damage by taking Eisen, got it,” Eugen finishes, “Parseval! Get your dragon over here and pin it!”

 

“I’m trying!” Parseval shouts, “My aid is going mad the closer I am! He won’t let me!”

 

“What do you mean?” Eugen tries to get an answer, but Parseval flies off out of earshot, “I’m out of ideas, sis. Hate to say, we need to kill it!”  

 

"We can’t!,” Adalbert yells to the group, "We don't know who’s rigging it is!"

 

“Then we can beat the shit out of it until it stops moving!” Hipper shouts out, struggling on her feet, “I’m getting tired of this bullshit…We have to decide, unload all you got girls!”

 

"Right!" Everyone shouts together.

 

Their fight wages on. Each hit lessens the grip, and every round weakens the machine.

 

Eventually, while flying around, Parseval yields her steed, now having news for the group; with all her breath, she bellows over the screaming winds, "I found the engine! Fire at the chest!"

 

Open wide in the center of the rigging is a radiating blue and red—the molten core of rigging and the heart of its operations. For the Iron Blood girls, riggings are loyal creatures that require only command to shut down. When in a situation where said rigging is belligerent, a reset is needed.

 

And they all know this with the rigging tied down; it could only scratch and beat on the ground. Screaming out animalistic cries at its captors. Guns now trained on its exposed spot, each of them lets loose a volley into the core. Rocks vibrate across the ground as guns fire and cannons turn hot.

 

In one last desperate scream, the rigging, or what's remaining of it, faces towards the sea. Letting its head drop onto the ground as its body goes limp.

 

Unsure of their victory and let the high of battle die down. None of the kansen says a word - only observes the scene. Keeping their fingers on the triggers of their turrets, Hipper, one of the first injured by the rigging, is the first to approach it. Eugen, worried about her sister's condition, joins her in their inspection. After one cursory glance at the dimming core - the girls throw up their hands and cheer.

 

---

 

“Hahah! That was awesome!” Heinrich bounces on her toes, “Good job, sis!”

 

"Yeah," her sibling wearily high-fives her, "Didn't think I would be fighting a sentient rigging."

 

Giggling more, Heinrich pets her rigging, happily tossing a piece of scrap into its maw.

 

"I’m so glad you’re okay," she hugs Eisen closely, making sure she avoids touching the obvious bite on its body, "Man, and you got a new coat of paint last week! Say, what happened? Did you girls accidentally turn it on and then scramble their brains?"

 

“No, neither of us did anything to it until just now,” Hipper grumbles, sitting down while Eugen works on her with a first aid kit, “We were minding our own business and fixing things when one of the crates in the warehouse exploded. And then comes this thing!”

 

“I assume it turned itself on somehow,” Adalbert affirms, “I didn’t know rigging could do that.”

 

"No, they can't," Hipper seethes a little from a bandage applied to her head, "At least from what I've seen. Unless the priority ships have some new gimmicks, we aren't aware of."

 

Parseval, having landed and joined the group. Her rigging went about moving the rubble of the warehouse. Occasionally turning its head over to its master and wearily avoiding the subdued rogue rigging.

 

August von Parseval folds her arms, "To be clear, I don’t know either, Hipper. Such new developments would've been known to Friedrich long before I knew.” She frowns at the incapacitated rigging, “This is going to be a mess to explain to the Admiral. I don’t think he’s going to like the damage once he inspects the port.”  

 

“Admiral?” Heinrich tilts her head, “When did he get here?”  

 

Parseval shakes her head, “He will be soon. He sent me along in advance of Herrin Tirpitz.”

 

“Jeez, something big must be happening if the Admiral is coming out here,” Adalbert grimaces. She plucks the goggles on her and puts them on, “Time to see what the hell we fought.”

 

Crouching on the ground, Adalbert inspects the downed rigging. Parseval follows behind her.

 

“He’s still alive, isn’t he?” Parseval points out, “How?”

 

"I don't know. He has all the marks of Siren tech. Yet it's clear he's Iron Blood manufactured and made," Adalbert inspects the core. Riddled with holes and bent parts, the heart they poured all their ammunition inside still beats with life—cracks over the surface with seeping energy. Blue and red whisps glow faintly.

 

“Wait,” an idea comes to Adalbert as she shoves her goggles onto her forehead, “That box did say something on it. It said a name, but I couldn’t read it.”

 

“Right, written in an old language, I think. Whatever it was, I blame the Kommadant, and he left it there." Hipper states casually. However, the comment itself wouldn't be taken so lightly.

 

Immediately, Eugen stops mending her sister's wounds and freezes. As if reading her mind, Parseval shares eye contact with her. Both resemble trembling lips and wide-eyed dread. Their shift in mood is noted and picked up by Hipper, who questions their change. 

 

"Heinrich, please show me to the communication tower. Now." Parseval pointedly asks, practically ordering Heinrich, who jumps in her spot.

 

“O-okay! I-is this about the rigging?”

 

"More than that," with fingers in her mouth, she whistles. Gaining the attention of her rigging, who was happily munching on a tree trunk. “I need to get a hold of the Kommadant. Immediately.”

 

Heinrich, barely catching up to the speed of the citation, clamors before remembering where she's at, "Sure! Yeah! Uh, err, see ya later, sis? I guess?"

 

Disappearing from the crowd, those that remain are stunned. Mostly Adalbert and Hipper. Eugen, on the other hand, is now circling the rigging. Looking at its damage and even spooking, Adalbert, who is still looking at its body.

 

“Weird, okay,” she responds to Adalbert, “I think you’re right. I do remember a name. Thought it was some ancient project or something.”

 

Eugen, surprising her sister, latches her fingers around her shoulders, “Repeat that. What did it say?”

 

“Jeez, uh,” Hipper blinks, “I don’t know what it meant.”

 

“Tell me what it said,” Eugen quickly demands. Yet softening her grip, “Please, I need to know.”

 

Hipper wracks her brain. Trying anything to remember what it said. Working all day and then fighting a battle with a rugged rigging made her senses numb. Only to be reawakened by her sister's strangely frantic expression.

 

“Adalbert!”

 

“U-uh, y-yeah.” Adalbert clears her throat, “Niddhoger? I don’t know. Niddhogie? Does that help?”

 

Eugen, all composure was gone, she rakes her fingers through her hair. A measure of terror covers her face.

 

“Eugen?” Hipper asks, concerned for her sister, “Hey. What’s happening?”

 

“We need to repair it,” Eugen grabs her sister, “Hipper, tell me what we need to do and what tools we need to fix this rigging. You’re the better mechanic between us.”

 

"Uhh," Hipper glances at the smoldering machine, "I don't know off the top of my head. We still have other warehouses with equipment inside, and I'm going to need suspension cords if I'm going to get anything work-"

 

“We start now.” Eugen reaches down and grabs a stray wrench, “I’ll help. Adalbert? Is it still alive?”

 

"Barely," she peers at its innards, "I mean, its components are a little old, and its Siren tech is beyond me-"

 

“But can we fix it?” Eugen asks in a pleading tone.

 

“Maybe, we can figure it out.” She rubs her head, “Eugen, who’s rigging is this? Was it still linked to a kansen?”

 

"It’s complicated," All her calm is absent, only worry, "But we need to hurry before we get someone killed.”

 

Storming off to the warehouse, Hipper and Adalbert watch as Eugen picks at the remains of the building. Moving riggings, machinery, and parts around. Either towards the downed rigging. She even pulls at the chains recently tied around its body to keep it contained. Hipper, unsure of what to make of this, joins her sister. Helping her direct what is the best way to get started on working.

 

While Adalbert remains, sitting near the rigging as its life flickers in its eyes. Despite being downed and released from its bonds, it remains still. Staring out at the sea and still trying to crawl toward the blue waters.

 

“Did we do something wrong?” Adalbert asks, confused and worried.

Notes:

Chapter titles are being all wonky. Should be fixed now.

Chapter 5: Developing Alternatives

Summary:

Important pieces gather and scatter as the battle spreads. Two sisters from different times.

She is not her sister. 

 

Everything about the other one, her look, the clothes, and the hair. Her rigging is a twisted, more powerful version of what it used to be. Holding the chains of its master as if the machine is in control. Pah, the woman who used to call herself ‘Scharnhorst,’ knows the truth. Although, she never struck her as the type to wear her philosophy so openly.

 

Scharnhorst META has to remind herself every time she sees her face. That is not her sister. 

 

Unbeknownst to her, ‘Gneisenau’ META thought the same thing long before it came up. 

 

“Tch,” her eyepatch wrinkles under her scowl, “She’s not my sister. Remember, she’s not her.” 

 

Repeating the mantra several times over, she breathes in and out. Looking down at her skates and then her rigging. Remaining ready and attached to its master. Their heads turn to see her. Tilting their heads in the same pensive behavior she hates to find herself in. 

 

“What are you looking at,” Scharnhorst spat, “Don’t mind me.” 

 

“He’s worried about you,” pivoting quickly. Scharnhorst holds up her rigging but is stopped. 

 

“Oh,” it’s their commander, Weber, “You. I mean, sir.” 

 

“Heh, I didn’t expect the salute, but,” He returns in kind, “Decorum has its place sometimes, but I don’t focus on it here.” 

 

“Then you lack discipline, officer,” Scharnhorst looks away, “What do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy getting ready for a patrol?” 

 

“I know,” he watches the waters of the base as the sun rises, “You’re still waiting for your partner. Although, you are really early for your shift. The previous watch won’t be here until sunrise.”

 

“Early to rise, bite me,” the battleship wants to give him the stink eye, only facing it away in time, “And what’s it to you?” 

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he walks over and finds a good spot to stand, “I would be irritated too if my skills were being wasted on mundane tasks.” 

 

Scharnhorst’s scowl hardens, further threatening to burst a blood vessel. The gall of this officer. Why does he think he can make assumptions about what she is thinking? This human. Why does everyone on this base think he’s worthy to follow? He’s nothing more than a weak fleshy sack of meat. They all die eventually, like the humans from her world. 

 

“And?” The word is sharp from her lips. Finally, looking directly at the officer’s face. 

 

He stares without emotion, “And I understand you more than you think.”

 

“Oh, really,” Scharnhorst points at the man in the chest, “You’re some human officer sent to watch over beings who can easily rip you apart. All I know about you is that you’re nothing more than some Admiral’s lackey. What makes you think you understand me?”

 

“Because I lost a sibling too,” he stares blankly at her, “And I know your story. I know she isn’t your sister, but we need you two to watch this base while the rest of the fleet is gone. One of you is enough, but I’d rather have two.” 

 

The words come and go, but the feelings only boil, “Hah, yeah. You lost a sibling. Everyone across the world lost someone. Hell, in all the timelines I’ve stepped foot in. You’re not unique.” 

 

“True, I’m not.” He folds his arms and watches the skies, “Hard to make a judgment such as that when you obviously dislike me..” 

 

“Hah,” She does the same as him and instead looks at the waters below, “Humans from my world died pitifully. None of them could help us stop the Sirens from destroying anything. So don’t expect me to trust you like everyone else here.”

 

“I didn’t,” he softens his tone, “You’re not exactly part of the Iron Blood, and the girls let you in because they see you as their own. I’m not your enemy, but if you want to see me as such, don’t take this out on the others - and keep your resentment towards me.” 

 

The calm message conveyed a shifting mood. Still brooding over her own discomfort, a sympathetic gut feeling surfaces. Having a scrap of her human-like emotion telling her the blunt truth behind her attitude. And she reluctantly takes responsibility for her own actions. 

 

“Sorry,” Confliction in her tone, “Trust is hard, and I never liked being here in the first place.”

 

“I understand.” He turns away from her. Breaking eye contact with the stewing battleship, “Then that’s fine. Although, I can’t say she would agree with you.” 

 

Processing his words, she sees another kansen walk up to her. Wearing her own rigging, the one Scharnhorst scrutinized not too long ago with one last click of her skates on the concrete. The two stare off. With her glasses and frames, this copy of her dead sister purses her lips. 

 

“Shall we?” Gneisenau META grins in a friendly manner. 

 

Scharnhorst META grumbles. Great. This is going to be fantastic. 

 

---

 

They split the workload. Scharnhorst would cover one side of the perimeter, and…Gneisenau maintains her half. Only one caveat to their arrangement, and the clause made sense despite how much it grinds her gears. They would meet at the base entrance - the long corridor left without traps - leading directly to the important contents - mainly the Tower of Midgard. 

 

Scharnhorst cannot help but watch the tower’s direction occasionally. Each time she makes her path, it’s as if something is calling her there. An uneasy feeling, combined with the irritation of being stuck on such a mundane task. She should be out there in the war games - the exercises - and showing what these girls need to be to fight the Sirens. Yet one thing remains the same and concerns the other person patrolling the border. 

 

Mines, defenses, and a fleet of Iron Blood ships ready to sail for the base’s defenses. Scharnhorst META did have to admit one thing - while stewing in her sour mood, she is drawn to how quiet the other META has been. It’s almost funny that she must watch the horizon for a supposed threat. What sucks for her is the border is already well-guarded. 

 

After three hours, the thought of her ‘sister’ crossed Scharnhorst META’s mind. She really has been silent this entire time. Not looking in her direction, not bothering to communicate unless to check for status. No small talk or gestures like she did early with her grin. It was like she reverted to a machine-like state. They are ships, but it didn’t sit well with Scharnhorst META. 

 

The sun is finally at its zenith. Reaching the gate again for their brief guard over the entrance, Scharnhorst META resolves herself. It couldn’t hurt, and what does she have to lose? Being lost in her own headspace has always been a detriment, and she’d rather not have it alone. Finally, given all the time to calm down and think clearly, the battleship finally finds the courage to speak. 

 

“Hey.” She calls out, getting Gneiesenau’s attention before returning to her patrol, “It’s almost break time. Want a…snack?” 

 

Gneisenau raises an eyebrow, almost as if she did not believe what she heard. Sincere in her offer, it isn’t lost on her. 

 

“Sure,” the ‘sister’ pulls out a watch and a bag from her possessions, materializing them from where her rigging dwells, “Fifteen minutes. Want some candies?” 

 

Wrapped goodies and assortments were inside. Some clearly melted, and others were inside that Scharnhorst wasn’t sure of their age. However, licorice poked out of the deepest part of the bag. Scharnhorst nods and picks through them, grabbing the black licorice piece. The choice makes Gneisenau open her mouth. But she closes it immediately, hoping Scharnhorst META didn’t see it. Even if they aren’t the same siblings, they understand each other enough. 

 

“What,” such a word coming out as an accusation. Biting into the sweet piece, the taste does lighten her mood considerably, “I like black licorice.” 

 

“Exactly,” she ties the backup, “She did too.” 

 

“...ah.” Scharnhorst slows her second chew. Feeling as if she’s missing something, she materializes her own bag, “I don’t have much. Mostly canned food. But I do have lollipops.”

 

“Really?” She sees Scharnhorst’s own bag and freezes. Then picks out the blue-wrapped lollipop. When unraveling it, she sticks it into her mouth and says, “Thank you, I love this flavor.”

 

“Yeah,” the irony clicks in her head, “My Gneisenau liked raspberry.”

 

Scharnhorst puts away the bag and thinks, “I…hey, sorry for being cold. It’s just, you know.” 

 

“You don’t have to say it,” she drags out the candy with a pop, “I saw it all over your face. And I don’t know if you saw it, but it makes me think about my sister too much.” 

 

Feeling a pang of guilt for being so mean all morning, Scharnhorst’s shoulders sag. Readjusting her feet as she shifted her weight on the water. 

 

“There are differences, though,” she manages to find her words, “The other stuff in your bag. She never liked eating sardines, and you have way too many sweets.” 

 

“Ah, she was more health-minded,” Gniesenau rationalizes, “Before things fell apart, we went to a candy shop in Wilhelmshaven. Found so many different candies and tastes I have never tried before. I raided the shop once I could make it to land.” 

 

“And I know what makes you different from her.” Gneisenau points at Scharnhorst’s left hand, holding the rest of the licorice, “She was right-handed.” 

 

“...and I’m a lefty.” The difference wasn’t too huge, but it did set them apart. Setting the boundary that they are, in fact, not the same sisters. The discussion calmed her, but Scharnhorst didn’t stop feeling off. As if bringing up the topic would be wrong right now. 

 

As if reading her thoughts, Gneisenau knew what needed to be said between them. Before they have to go back on patrol and return to the silence. And as much as she didn’t mind the quiet - she hated how it made her feel towards another version of her sister. 

 

“How about we come up with nicknames,” she proposes, “Not because we are fond of each other, but because it would make us…different from our versions. And not a nickname we would use for each other.” 

 

“A completely new nickname, I get it,” Scharnhorst nods approvingly, “Sure. I think I have a list.” 

 

“Oh?” Surprised she was outthought first, “Let’s hear it.”

 

“Eva?” 

 

“No, it doesn’t fit me. Too simple.” 

 

“Dorothy?”

 

“I…” she tastes the word and only thinks of a certain movie, “Nope.”

 

“Emmeline?” Her suggestion came up and is thought of heavily. Gneisenau ponders the name and repeats it under her breath. She felt it matched her and quite liked the flow of it. 

 

“Okay, I like it,” she thinks of her name. One that takes much longer and eventually does, “And for you, Edith.”

 

“First try, and I love it,” Scharnhorst snorted loudly, “Hey, can’t think of anything else, and if they don’t work, we can change our minds later.” 

 

“Maybe,” Gneieseanu finishes off the last of her lollipop and throws the stick at her rigging, which eats the tiny bit, “Still, I’d rather talk to you than have whatever is…this.”

 

“Ditto.” Her one eye softens, “I’m…glad we could speak.”

 

Instantly, a ping hits both of them. Their radars, enhanced by their abilities, alert them quickly to a newfound threat. Looking around, Scharnhorst and Gneisenau back up - supporting one another while scanning the gate and perimeter.

 

Checking their radar, the two are put on a higher alert - the ping comes from every direction.

 

Then the alarms on the base go off. 

 

Used to the danger coming from all sides, guns click and rigging scan their heads. Feeding information to their owners of anything seeking to sneak up on them. Facing the source, hopefully, to find the threat, they see the Tower of Midgard erupt to life. Running towards it on her own rigging is Ulrich, having sensed the problem. Patrol be damned, there’s a problem, and all hands on deck. 

 

“Ulrich! Hey!” Gneisenau tried to call out, “Damn, she’s not responding to my radio either.”

 

“Comms are scrammed, “Scharnhorst spit on the water, “Bad omen?

 

“Bad omen.” Her sister agrees back.

 

But before they can head over to help, a large explosion erupts from beyond the entrance to the Floating Fortress. A battle ensues as a fleet of kansen clamor back to the base. Behind them are dozens of aircraft and dark ships - firing their armaments on the treating allies. 

 

Scharnhorst breaks towards the encroaching storm of violence, realizing where she is needed. Violence calls for her, and it is her greatest strength to give. Only to stop when she senses the lack of a certain person. Gneisenau, who faces away from her, is watching the tower. 

 

The Tower of Midgard, an intensely powerful tool of the Iron Blood, radiates dangerous energy. Shaking the base and moving waters. Causing ripples around the base and throwing the sister off their balance. 

 

They share one last moment. Maybe deep down, they had a similar moment with their dead siblings. Giving each other the last silent salute to their deaths. No, this time, they nod confidently. Breaking off to provide support to their allies beset on all sides. 

 

Because even as Scharnhorst META sails yet again away from a sibling she had long ago lost - she fights not just for her but for both the sisters she knew. For their lives and for their fallen. Because she won’t stop fighting until the true, final shell. 

 

Chapter 6: Homefront

Summary:

Kiel is attacked. The Sirens make their move.

And the Iron Blood rises.

Soaring above the fleet, the visage of a dragon and rider with a wicked smile. A predator looking upon the bountiful prey below with euphoria. Dozens of ships fire their guns, and shore batteries pound into the large swaths of Sirens. Hundreds of ships swarmed the waters, filling the sea with constant firepower and destruction. Afar, is the city of Kiel, guarded by the Kansen and mass productions fighting in a grand display of heated violence against the tides. 

 

Intercoms blare through her ear, an internalized speaker. Different voices and conversations screech endlessly in harsh yet controlled tones on the open comms. 

 

"Shore batteries are up! Humans are evacuating the outer parts of Kiel further inland! We can go all out."

 

"Watch the torpedoes; U-boats are fighting below us!"  

 

"Mass productions are holding up, but we're getting swamped here!"

 

"Hey, where's your sister at, Magdeburg?" 

 

"Look up! She's taking her sweet ass, time!" 

 

Staring beneath her, Regensburg said, "I love you too, sis!" Met with another insult, her grin deepens, "Regina! It's time! The mortals need us now or never!"

 

Increasing its speed as the creature wraps its body with the wings to drag. The beast belches obediently and flaps their long wings to blow away clouds. Turning its nose downwards into the hell below. 

 

Hugging her rigging, Regensburg tastes the pressure and revels in the thrill. With a touch to the head, the beast nods to the unspoken command, and it goes faster. It spirals in the cold air, dropping through the atmosphere. Penetrating the air and breaking the skies with a clap. Aircraft unlucky enough to get stuck in their path shatter. The impact of the sound wave dismantles them mid-flight. 

 

Sensing the incoming waters, Regensburg, who was latched to his back. Wrapping herself in her own wings protruding from her back. 

 

Roaring at incoming turret fire, Regina blocks stray shots upon entry. As they are now in danger, Regensburg whips back her head, her yellow eyes shining a brilliant hue. Both rigging and owner unravel their draconic wings, flashing their horns and crimson colors. Hovering right above the fleet before diving right into the fray. 

 

"Here she is!" Magdeburg is picked out of the comms, "And she's going in hot!" 

 

Regina grabs an aircraft and flings it at the bridge of a Siren battleship, stopping the ship's guns mid-fire. Blowing up in a massive fiery balloon of hellfire. Destroying two others near it. Past the smoke, past the plums of anti-air, and even the dogfights resuming blows- they kept wage war. 

 

Not wanting to be outdone by her own machine, Regensburg quickly snatches a mass-produced shell mid-flight, stopping suddenly to fling it directly at a cluster of Siren transports. Causing a chain reaction of destruction erupting in a beautiful line of blue fires and molten scrap. Kansen below looks up at the display in awe - only seeing two blobs dart across as their enemies sink before them. 

 

One person simply rolled her eyes. 

 

"...ugh, she's having too much fun," Magdeburg watches from her position, having just destroyed a Siren by hand. She grabs her ear, "Show off!" 

 

Her reply would come streaming by. Cackling as the Siren's forces are decimated. Their heavy firepower is reduced to scrap - the other parties can close in on the swarm. Corralling the rest of them through coordinated shots and close-order formations. Magdeburg yells to her group, both kansen and mass productions, and leads them into the mess. 

 

"Break them!" Matching the same crooked smile as her sibling. 

 

Shore batteries continue firing into the slew of ships. Meanwhile, friendly air support stopped any attempts to target the girls from the skies. Watching far beyond the noise and the cacophony - sending planes of her own via her rigging - Jade speaks to her sister. 

 

"Skies are clear. Sending additional bombers," the gray-haired woman chats, "Yeesh, sonic booms are really mean."

 

"Breaking barriers of reality every day," Jade's sister, Elbe, awestruck, "Every new kansen we get, the more advanced they become."  

 

"Oh? Jealous?" she smiles sweetly, getting the attention of her sibling, "I think you're mad someone can be a bad girl, too~!" 

 

"Hey!" Pulling down her cap, Elbe huffs, "L-look, who's talking!" 

 

Jade shrugs innocently, "What? I'm a good girl, unlike you~!"

 

"Ugh, n-no!" She flusters and sputters, "It's so unfair a cruiser can fly…." The Elbe grumbles more before snapping her head back into the action, "More aircraft coming." 

 

As much as she wants to keep going, even Jade takes to the situation with gusto, "Got them in my sights, sending my planes over." 

 

Aircraft buzzed through the air from their rigging, launching like clockwork into formations. Some get shot down by the enemy fire - but most breakthrough - attacking the disorganized mess of Siren planes trying to avoid them and the raging rigging in the air. Its master followed suit in her mad dash to dislodge Siren's cohesion. 

 

Ships on fire, whether on purpose or not, charged directly at the Iron Blood fleet. Slamming into them with reckless cracks and sizzling steel. The few with ammunition shoot point blank - forcing kansen to go on the defensive and evade before they got too close. They didn't go out without a fight, however. 

 

Ship after ship, Siren after Siren. 

 

Portals erupt, and stepping out en-masse is a stream of humanoid Sirens, Executors, come to bring order. Reigniting cohesion as the automatons recalculate and direct their mass productions, better moving them to combat the kansen. Very soon, everyone feels the pressure. Tension shifts - the smile on Regensburg's face turns cold, the Jade class increases their output, and more bursts of water come from the U-Boats below. 

 

Their resident mad scientist, U-73, leads them with her specially-made tools. Bubbles rise to the surface alongside the broken-apart husks dirtying the blue. The battle above is as wild as the waters below. Leading her group, her wolfpack, as they fight a somewhat slowed yet vicious extermination. 

 

"Alright, ladies!" She messages the wolfpack, "Stand back; I'm going to use my experiments!"

 

No one takes it lightly. 

 

"Save yourselves!" U-410, covered in ink from a non-related squid, dives her rigging to a respectable distance. Others swim away from the potential crime against nature. 

 

Happily wielding her unique flasks, she inserts them in specially-made torpedoes. Excited about being able to test her chemicals on the enemy, her rigging is trying desperately to prevent its master's violation of the human laws that prohibit her intentions. Otherwise, the battle ensues - Sirens care not for a crazed scientist. These underwater kansen fought interdependently; their riggings would blow holes into their foes - shooting torpedoes inside. Sinking them to the bottom; rending them empty husks.  

 

On the surface, the battle quickens - more Sirens arrive from outside. Breaking apart the once-organized horde of dark ships is a hail of weathering shells. Funneling themselves as a wave riding the tides.

 

Erupting from the left flank, where the fire raged across waterlogged husks, Otto von Albenson wipes off the black smudge from her leggings. Glancing at the chaos, she barely registered the suicide boat careening towards her position.

 

"Ah, shit," she pivoted to blast it with her torpedoes, but a pair of claws reached from the sky and picked up the boat. 

 

"Thanks for the save!" She salutes it. With its crimson wing, it flaps a wave back before dropping the boat on a sinking, yet still firing Executor. Pathetically dying, the Siren humanoid flings volleys aimlessly. Lights dim as it's swept away by the tides. 

One last reinforcement descends upon the waters. Unlike Regensburg, she touches the water with a slow float. Possessing more armaments and more significant rigging, the arriving Siren stands stiffly. Although lacking life behind her eyes - her appearance is prominent - is the body of one of the elites - Tester. 

 

"Elite!" Spotting from her aircraft amid the muddy waters, Elbe's words reach everyone, "It's Tester!"

 

"You sure?" Magdeburg peers from a broken hull, "She… doesn't look right." 

 

"Pawn, maybe?" Another kansen guesses, "Oh crap, the Executors are fired up!" 

 

"Girls!" The voice of their current flagship ripples through the fleet, "Shoot, Tester! Pawn or not, their forces are reforming again. Do not let them!"

 

"Aye, Lord Tirpitz!" Affirmation surges through the ranks. 

 

Flying from up high, Regensburg lands atop her rigging, rearing its head to roar directly at Tester. Swiping her sweat-soaked hair, the cruiser challenges the blankly staring Tester. Attention is ripped off by the melting force of Sirens. 

 

"Roar, Regina!" 

 

The beast roars with its two arms balled into fists and head rearing. Iron Blood riggings, attached to their owners or not, shrieked in response. Their teeth tear more, their speed grows faster, and more Siren hulls break apart. 

 

Tester fires her shoulder-mounted gun. Six shots are fired at the same time at Regina. Four miss and go flying through the air. Two make their mark but are blocked by the rigging's arms. Enraged by the action, the rigging and its master charge again. Avoiding more shots as they reduce the space between them and Tester. 

 

Magdeburg, seeing this, trains her guns on Tester - laying down suppressing fire and directing the Siren away from the lumbering form of her sister. She isn't the only one. Emerging from the depths, the U-Boat wolf pack launches their torpedoes. Submerging back into the waters below just in time, fighters and bombers above carpet the area around Tester. 

 

Closing in, Regina guided by Regensburg, bash metal against metal. 

 

With one arm, Regina swipes violently at the Siren and her own one keeping its master safe from shots. Unfettered by the damage, the Siren side steps each swipe. Every swing moves faster and the Siren’s dodges do the same - matching each other's speed in ferocity. Regensburg is forced to double their effort, tracking each movement closely with beads of sweat stinging her eyes. 

 

Out of the corner of her vision, she resists the urge to smirk. As to not warn Tester. 

 

Tester is slowed by ricocheting explosions of smoke, tearing into her back. From afar, Tirpitz entered the battlefield; her shots pierced Tester’s exterior. Breathing in her nose, she fires again, targeting the bulky six barreled rigging. Ripping off the Siren’s left side as the metal melts over her shoulder. With emotionless glaring, the Tester’s right side is grabbed by Regina. 

 

Both her arms were torn off by the riggings and thrown into the water. The rigging, with its jaw unlatched and sharp row of teeth, snaps down on Tester’s body. Separating her legs from her hip and ending the mindless Tester’s function. 

 

With one large cry, Tirpitz raises her banner. 

 

"For the Iron Blood!" 

 

Cheers match her zealous call. 

 

"For the Iron Blood!" 

 

The Iron Blood would not be brought low. Their homeland is under threat, and a city is at stake. The battle's outcome arrives with renewed vigor. Sirens fail to get their strength together. Whatever edge they had sunk with the disappearance of Tester's body. Retreating to whatever dimension they came from to lick their wounds for another day. 

 

"They're scattering," Regensburg notes, happily smashing her fist into a Siren aircraft that tried to slam into her, "Damn pricks. Hey, did anyone notice how suicidal they were today?" 

 

"Yeah, and it was a pain in the ass," Otto von Alvensben sighs through the radio, "Ever since Friedrich and the rest of the SMS ships left, they've been throwing themselves at us."

 

“Seriously? Even during patrols?” 

 

“Yup, stray ones too.” Alvensben shrugs, even if not everyone can see it, “If they want a fight, I’ll do it, but c’mon. At least don't bum rush me.” 

 

Winding down and finishing off the remnants left behind, the seriousness of the battle falters, and moods remain high. 

 

The conversation is superseded by another one. 

 

"Hey, U-73! What are you doing with that torpedo!" 

 

"Don't worry!" A distinctive boom reverberates through the water, "Sorry!" 

 

"Keep the comms to battle, girls," a commanding presence erupts, "Banter after we eradicate the threat, understood?" 

 

"Aye, Lord Tirpitz!" The chatter booms and then ceases. 

 

Chuckling at the words exchanged, Regensburg returns to the slaughter. Finishing off the last of the Siren battleships and ripping it to shreds with its turret. She proudly stands atop the carcass as Regina, her pride and joy, dives into the water. Dragging a Siren aircraft down with it to flood the puny insect. 

 

The swarm is dispersing. Kansen and their riggings converge and split them into smaller groups. Conquering and dividing the forces. 

 

Hearing her comms again, Regensburg feels a difference in how it ticks. 

 

"Regensburg," Tirpitz's voice is hushed, "I need you to take Jade and Alvensleben. You three are the only ones I can spare right now and I need you to link up with Lord Bismarck at the strait." 

 

Throwing aside the turret barrel, she covers her ears to hear better, "Lord Bismarck? Didn't she want us at Wilhelmshaven?" 

 

"The situation changed; Wilhelmshaven is secured." A welcome surprise for dragon kansen, but she does well not to show it. "Go, now. The other two are already on their way." 

 

"Aye, Lord Tirpitz," Regensburg turns off her comms and beckons for her rigging, "Come, Regina! Time for us to continue this fight! We have more prey to kill!" 

 

It roars, shaking the waters around it.

 

They set sail for their next destination, leaving behind the saved harbor of Kiel. 

 

---

 

Tirpitz stands with her banner, watching her fleet clean up the waters. Picking apart pieces of Sirens, while their rigging scooping their intact remains – consuming or destroying them. She watches to ensure no other threat emerges. Despite her scanning for further Siren forces – the four heads of her rigging nudge her side. 

 

“Hmm?” She looks at them. They’ve become more animated as of late. Taking on a more active role in her life, even moving about out of their own volition. A trend becoming common among the Iron Blood’s living rigging. 

 

The four heads point to the waters. Their counterparts still pick apart the remains with vulture-like mentalities – eating their spoils of war. 

 

“You want to join them?” They nod excitedly, “Certainly. Please don’t fight with the other rigging.” 

 

Detaching from her body, the four lay their heads in obedience. Then scampering off to whatever scraps they can consume. Separating into pairs so as to not lose one another in the mess of war. 

 

Tirpitz keeps an eye on them. Watching their lively moods and mimicry of a certain household pet. Small for their size and overshadowed by the likes of rigging under August von Parseval or Regensburg, there is no envy in how she sees their machines. In fact, she shares the same viewpoint many have come to accept about them – they are a part of them as family members. 

 

“Bismarck,” Tirpitz thinks of her sibling and the events that have transpired. Having survived her ordeal against Hood, and the break away from Azur Lane, her condition has seen leaps and bounds. Now, back at the helm - Tirpitz recalls her sister’s departure and orders to be carried out, “I hope what you and Friedrich have planned will work.” 

 

Feeling a buzz and clicking, Tirpitz pulls out her cell phone. Only a handful of people possess her number, and she rarely picks it up – especially during or after a battle. However, the ringtone she left for this specific caller told her all she needed to know. 

 

“Yes, Admiral?” She says, “Kiel and Wilhelmshaven are secure. Our ports are safe. We’re cleaning up the battlefield now. Preparing to return to Berlin.” 

 

"What?" Her grip on her staff tightens and loosens, “Bismarck gave me explicit orders to- Ah, I understand. Thank you, Admiral.” Putting away her phone, she continued her vigil. 

 

The girls, removed from the violent seriousness of the battle, mill about with their business. Some came ashore to rest after a long battle. U-Boats emerging and submerging - most pulling a burnt, yet largely intact U-73. Her rigging dutifully pulling her away for the safety of the fleet. Meanwhile, everyone is licking their wounds and checking their weapons. As quickly as the Sirens have come to violate the harbor, did as quickly as their hulls and leftovers disappear. The Iron Blood may be quite vicious in battle, they are efficient in work.  

 

Tirpitz knows she’ll need to pull the fleet back. Allow Kiel and its inhabitants to come back to their homes after making sure they won’t lose their lives. Not again, many have said, not again will they let the Sirens take away what they preserved. But Tirpitz knows, they’ll be relieved, despite their quasi-trust, semi-fear of her kind – they will be safe. 

 

She admits, personally, watching her rigging nibble together on a piece of metal - victory does bring a smile to her face.

 

Chapter 7: Deals

Summary:

Afar, a came is played and plans are moving. Pieces move as much as the paper they are on. Not just boards.

Although, one needs to remember, these pieces must think too.

Seydiltz swishes the water around her feet. The harbor’s chilled temperatures soaked up her skates. Her reflection wavers in unclear colors before being splashed again with her foot. Waiting around has numbed her mind to boredom, and her normally watchful gaze dulled over time.

 

The harbor of Aaland. Once an undisturbed island, it’s a fortified settlement circled constantly by patrols and armed with shore guns and anti-air. Automated, there is only the occasional visit from a technician to ensure base operations. Only the people live here and the Kansen of three different nations, the Royal Navy, Northern Parliament, and the Iron Blood, guard its perimeter.

 

Off the shores are fishing barges anchored to the docks. Contrasting with the heavy metal ships quietly anchored nearby. The inhabitants go about their day as if they were used to the sight or ignored them altogether.

 

Normally, such a backwater is kept to the human militaries or evacuated to safer shores. Yet it is what the community produces which is badly needed. These stubborn few continue in their fishing community - an ancient tradition spanning centuries. No company is brave enough to sail out here and claim the waters for their own. Not like they can, for the Northern Parliament is staunch in protecting the isle.

 

Because of the jurisdiction, the Iron Blood forces under Friedrich der Grosse remained. With little to do as the Northern Parliament ships pass through, off to the frontlines. Off to fend off any more Siren incursions into the Baltic Sea and beyond.

 

Orders are orders. She and the rest of her fleet will remain here until the talks between the Northern Parliament and Freidrich der Grosse end. A long discussion that is eating into her patience day by day.

 

“Coffee?”

 

“Huh?” She sees the white mug, “Sure, thanks, Mainz.”

 

“Mainz?” Sitting next to her is a blur of white, “I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”

 

“Oh, sorry, Avrora.” Seydiltz lifts her cap, “I’m nodding off again.” 

 

“Staying vigilant, I presume,” Avrora sips her mug, “Everyone needs to start off the morning the right way.”

 

“Agreed,” the Iron Blood ship gulps, “Ahh. Huh. You’re recovering well from last night.”

 

“This is an average Wednesday,” Avrora breathes out a sigh of satisfaction, for the drink does keep her warm, “Last night was the light stuff. I do need to stay vigilant, being this close to the zone.”

 

Seydlitz shakes her head and remains silent. There are greater threats than each other and no greater allies than the hardy people of the cold. It isn’t her place to question the amount of alcohol the Northern Parliament drinks. Nor how they handle themselves around guests of another nation, they are meant to be at war with. At least she can agree with the human leadership back home - there is no point to continue fighting each other when deals can be made to help one another.

 

“Your level of drinking is…commendable.” recalling the memories of their revelry, “I know a few back homes who can rival you and whatever Gangut can do.”

 

“Maybe~. Gangut will bring all the booze she can get for it,” Avrora sips intermittently, “She is never one to pass up the chance.”

 

“Hah, I learned that the hard way,” the comment earned her a giggle from Avrora, “No one should be able to consume that much and still be fine the next morning.”

 

“Ah, such is life for a Northern Parliament kansen,” her words elicit a sense of pride and joy, “Drinking has always been a major part of our culture, sometimes to our own detriment, I admit.”

 

“How your officer deals with you is a wonder to behold,” running a dry navy is difficult; operating an inebriated one with weapons capable of destroying the city shudders Seydlitz, “We have our own resident drunks from time to time.”

 

“Comrade Rall has always been a leader to follow.” Avrora muses, tapping the outside of her mug with contemplation, “He reminds me a little bit of your officer, the one you’ve mentioned to me before.”

 

“Kommadant Weber? I don’t know him as well as I know my husband.”

 

“Your husband!” A spark flashes in Avrora’s eyes, “Right, you mentioned him before. Your Admiral. I have yet to meet a kansen who’s married, let alone with their own child.”

 

Seydlitz is immediately met with a familiar sense of dread. It’s a common topic for her in almost all her interactions, and she has tried to skirt the topic instead of discussing it, mostly for her own sanity and embarrassment. However, Seydlitz would be lying to herself if she didn’t like the attention her family received. She likes talking about them, regardless of her feelings toward the probing questions of strangers.

 

Avrora isn't a stranger, though. More of an international acquaintance.

 

“...what do you want to know?” She finally broaches the topic.

 

“What’s it like?” She raises the pitch of her voice, “Tell me everything!”

 

“It’s soothing,” the Iron Blood cruiser removes her cap and holds it closely, “Having someone you love in the same house as you and being around you makes it easier to go about my day. Knowing someone is waiting for you back home is a fulfilling reason to get up daily. It's everything I can ask for.”

 

“Ah, the joys of a settled life,” the cruiser leans back, “While I wish to see the Revolution to the very end, I also dream of a quiet life afterward.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Yes,” taking on a more pensive look, she mumbles, “Looking after the fleet and my sisters-at-arms made me realize there is more I wish to do. Settling down, finding a place of my own in the Parliament, and living the rest of my life in peace. Such an idea isn’t so hard, no?”

 

“Maybe. I’m not sure if I really know what the quiet life is like,” Seydiltz confesses, having thought about it before when her child was born or during the slow moments in the morning, “My husband has taken to watching the homefront and keeping our government afloat back home, now that Bismarck is back, our workloads have made our lives very busy.”

 

“You leave time for your child, I hope?” Avrora questions with pure concern, “It must be awful having to work around it with your responsibilities to the fleet.”

 

“Nothing we can’t handle, and we have a whole fleet who would love to help,” The stress crawls under my skin, yet the relief is there, “Yorck loves to dote on her. And Lutzow and Thurnigen always volunteer to watch her. It’s almost a fight from time to time.”

 

The planning, the schooling, and the work. While she won’t tell Avrora, Seydiltz’s daughter inherited a trait from her that none outside the Iron Blood know.

 

She is a kansen, and her rigging appeared before her current assignment.

 

Yet, she will keep it a secret until the time is right or if any other kansen decide to take on their own families. There is pride to be taken as the first in the fleet to prove that kansen are just as human as their creators.

 

“How old is she?”

 

“Huh?” Having to remove herself from the thought of her daughter, Seydiltz clears her throat, “Five. Five years old. She’ll be turning six in a month.”

 

“My, my. Five years,” the Northerner repeats back, playing with the words, “How time passes.”

 

Avrora reached into her jacket, producing two small hand bottles similar to the ones they drank last night. She swipes the now empty mug from Seydiltz’s hands and quickly switches it with a bottle.

 

“To your family,” the white-haired Northerner clinks her bottle and already has it unscrewed.

 

“Family,” Seydiltz clinks back slowly, “Err, drinking this early in the morning?”

 

“Nothing wrong with early morning drinks, besides those are non-alcoholic,” Before Avrora chugs her bottle, she glares at her, “I don’t know if you felt it, but there’s a strong sense of change in the air. Many things will happen soon, and I would like to be as merry as possible before it starts.”

 

What does she mean? “I don’t quite follow.”

 

“The war,” Avrora waves her bottle around to point to a big picture in front of them, “When you have lived as long as me, you can guess the turning, an intuition. Today, I sense the people’s hope. I welcome what will happen, for the sake of the Revolution and ending this Siren threat once and for all.”

 

Opening her drink, Seydiltz hesitates before sipping it. Opening her eyes wider, she lifts the bottle and drinks. It’s cider but…sweeter.

 

“Wow,” she finishes with a gasp, “This is refreshing.”

 

After sipping more, Seydiltz comes up with an idea, “Want to see pictures?”

 

“Yes, please!”

 

---

 

Friedrich watches the board.

 

Playing black, her position started off on a strong note. Her pawns are arrayed in a large pyramid, fending off any attempts made by her opponent. However, the zigzagged lines of defense made it impossible for her to break through - leaving the two stagnancy - a trench war of pawns, bishops firing suicidal attacks, and knights scurrying like rats.

 

She knows why. Her opponent is one of her best rivals.

 

“Check.”

 

Sovetsky Soyuz mumbles in a neutral tone. White clothes match the color of her pieces. Between them, it is a clashing battle of wits and strategy. Soyuz throws her pawns out when she can in a swarm of sacrifices, while Freirdrich takes the stance of strong pushes and heavy attacks. Neither can push an advantage even after losing both their knights and bishops. All that is left is to remove the battleships from their spots.

 

Not battleships…their rooks. However, to Friedrich, she can tell where this game is going.

 

“The war is going as well for you as it is for me.” Friedrich decides to hold her piece, wanting to start a conversation, “I saw it during our talks. We have to change things or else we lose everything.”

 

Soyuz taps the table, “We are trying. Our troops are having as much trouble with a possible rebellion. I can say you're not different, depending on what I heard of your Reichsreformists.”

 

“Don’t. Please. I don’t want to bring them up again.” Friedrich pulls back her queen, another failed attack, “I…what I meant, my dear, is that we know we need to do something soon to break this stalemate.”

 

“And your plan is risky, Friedrich.” The air around the battleship grows cold, “We’ve carried out our end of the deal. Beating back the Sirens at Scapa Flow sounds like a dangerous idea. Do you think it will work?”

 

The black pieces are moving more. Friedrich has shifted her line and broken apart her pyramid. She sends in the flanks to move the front forward only to have them whittled down by rooks and fodder. Soon the center remains tattered yet intact. Friedrich limps back and forth the board with her queen while her rooks sandwich the king.

 

“It has to.” Friedrich grips her last piece, leaving a dent in the queen’s crown, “The Royal Navy knows what’s happening, yet we need to be careful of what Azur Lane intends to do.”

 

Soyuz begins her counterattack. She brings to bear her rooks, having been trapped behind the pawns keeping the battleline in place, they move to the sides. Never getting too close to the guarding black rook or risking their lives. With the sides cleared out, she begins operating her queen. Eating through the middle in carefully picked exchanges.

 

“Why not trust Sakura Empire or the Sardegnas?” The Northern Parliament woman sits back, pausing, awaiting her turn, “I doubt the Vichya are aware of your attention.”

 

“They aren’t, but the Tribunal is,” Her opponent remarks dryly, “The Sakurans know whether we told them or not. From what I have heard, Sardegna has their own problems, and the Iris Libre have been dormant since they fled to Northern Africa.”

 

Politics and machinations. When asked to take up her child for Bismarck, Friedrich expected what would be thrown at her. She saw the last war with her eyes from the beginning to the end. The old empire, the upstart, the corrupt copy of a more prideful past. She saw the soldiers and the leaders fall apart against waves and bodies. Whether it was an Eagle Union man who stepped on Iris soil or the Northern Parliament hordes storming Berlin. She knew the headaches.

 

Stressful. Yet, she dreams.

 

“True,” Soyuz gives grounds, losing a rook to an attempt to target the black king, “Keeping the Eagle Union quiet has never been a good strategy. They’ll not take too kindly to the hidden intricacies.”

 

“Their Commander, I have heard, is a trustful and upright man,” Friedrich studies the board, “I heard exploits of their leadership. They have as much integrity as the people we employ. Admiral Rall, for example.”

 

“And your officers, too,” the battleships agreed. Slowing their game down, “Admiral Winkler, an old crippled man, has a fire I haven’t seen in many these days. And that other officer.”

 

Hearing how her child is referred to pricks a few of Friedrich’s alarms, “What about him? Choose your words carefully. I am fond of the one who helped bring me to this world.”

 

Although it is her turn, Soyuz breaks away from the board and stares directly at the battleship. Ships to ships. Battleship to battleship. She cups her hands in a pyramid and lends on it. Waiting for Friedrich to meet her gaze, which the motherly lady dares not to do.

 

“We know what he is. Admiral Rall knows so much about this Nidhoggr.”

 

Friedrich stares up. Frowning.

 

“And? You have one of your own. Rall isn’t exactly hiding now, is he?”

 

Soyuz purses her lips. Both have struck a nerve and refuse to waver under each other’s gaze. There is a history between them and a lack thereof without them. Both ships were never meant to be yet; unlike Friedrich, Soyuz was close. Very close to the reality of the world and yet never sent forth.

 

“At least we aren't the only ones to have purged our own.” Soyuz balances her fallen queen between her fingers, “Survivors. They are more we keep finding everyday.”

 

“You speak of Admiral Rall as if its obvious, for a someone who rarely shows up in public light,” Friedrich knows where her game is going, yet the costs were high, “Are there still others in Azur Lane?”

 

“Yes,” Soyuz re-evaluated her position. Not exactly penned in, but she knows the game has descended from the zenith - she has lost, and it is now a matter of how long she can prolong the end.

 

“Care to elaborate?” Her words are curious, and her mind is probing. Who else is out there? Is there more in other nations? Friedrich knows her nation isn’t the only one and is aware of major events worldwide.

 

Oslo wasn’t the only major defeat.

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Soyuz asks with a hint of a frown, “Think about it, Friedrich. You’ve read up on the world. I know you are aware of the modern world’s history.”

 

“How helpful and polite~,” Friedrich breaks out her queen and pawns. Her center fell apart into shambles, yet her strategy to draw in the rooks paid off well. Losing one rook to two and a queen gave her the edge she desperately needed to clean up. Her only concern, a minor one, is preventing a pawn from escaping to her side.

 

“You said there were no hard feelings during the meeting.”

 

“There isn’t.”

 

“Then why does it seem like you’re taking it out on the game.”

 

“Because,” Soyuz pauses, lowering her head, “I can’t think of any other way.”

 

“Ah…” Friedrich moves a piece, “Check.”

 

Soyuz sighs deeply, “No, it’s a checkmate.” Her king is pushed back with a rook and queen, “I can’t go against Comrade Rall’s decision to support you. I have no doubts the plan will work, yet this is risky. Too many chances for things to go wrong.”

 

“Perhaps,” Their game has ended with high emotions, “We have to try.”

 

Soyuz excuses herself, “I will return. If you will?”

 

Her hand waves to the board and Friedrich bows her head, “Black or white this time?”

 

“Black,” Soyuz chooses quickly, her eyes sharpen, “I want to see what it means to strike second. I would like to enjoy this peace and quiet before heading back to the halls of the Kremlin. There is much work that needs to be done and I would rather squeeze as much free time as I have left on this island.”

 

Friedrich can’t help but laugh. Giggling at the relation, “A shared sentiment. I understand.”

 

Left alone in the room, Friedrich thinks. She thinks until there is nothing left to wonder about her predicament and her game. For deep down, she knows what will be done.

 

The talks have gone well. Soon, she will set off and meet with the Royal Navy. Then she will sail for Wilhelmshaven and check in on Bismarck’s condition. If it has improved, the time will come where the Iron Blood will break the stalemate and it has to happen in Scapa Flow.

 

It’s only that, she can’t remove the worry growing in the back of her mind.

 

Why hasn’t she heard back from Ulrich?

Chapter 8: The Queen's Check

Summary:

Iron Blood bring out their best piece. However, the game is still too early and the move was desperate but necessary.

They are screaming. 

 

Fires erupt around the shores and on the boats. In hails of laser and heated bolts, strike the vessels marooned on beaches. People ran, running towards the horns blaring for their lives. As if begging for them to move away from Sirens attacking their homes. 

 

One aircraft hums haunting banshee tunes. Locking onto its next target, with the city’s defenses reduced - it had a new objective - kill the fleeing humans. And unfortunately for a family of three, it continues its objective. 

 

They crawled out of the rubble of their home. Dragging themselves from the dirt and ash of crushed concrete. A mother and her two sons, both children, cling on. Crying is the younger brother, shaking their mother as she lay still - a wound on her head. 

 

The older brother, almost a man, tried to carry the two to safety. A young soldier in soot-covered civilian clothes - his service rifle dangling off a shoulder strap. His right arm was in a dirtied sling - if he could, he would’ve dragged his mother and brother away to the safety of the city’s bunkers. 

 

Seeing his end, the older brother yells to his younger brother. Ordering him to leave and take their mother away. Ignoring the weak protests, he stops to assure his scared sibling and looks at the craft. Hoisting his rifle one last time in one act of defiance. The Siren, being a drone, was able to pick up the audio belching from the weak human. 

 

“For the Iron Blood!” He lifted his rifle and fired. 

 

Activating its shields, the aircraft follows protocol. Deflecting each bullet and maintaining aim. However, due to safety precautions, the machine prioritizes the wounded soldier. Priming its machine guns to low settings - enough to kill one man and save energy for the other two. 

 

The machine could not fire. 

 

Cleaving the aircraft in two, the soldier stopped firing and was thrown onto his back. Covered in yet more soot, and now parts of what was supposed to be his killer. He squints around at the impossible fate of survival. The aircraft was gone, and all that remains are the bits on the ground. 

 

The young man believed he would die. He wanted to, but in his sheer moment of living, he never realized how pure fear is. Such thoughts don’t sink in. Instead, relief and awe overcome him. A figure stands before him, tall, proud, and wielding a banner. The colors of their nation, of the Iron Blood. 

 

More soldiers followed behind her, reaching for other survivors underneath her banner and guiding survivors out of the rubble. Shocked by what he saw, the young man notices his mother’s stirring. Weak and wounded, she finally assured his younger sibling of her condition and gave a smile and praise to the woman standing before them. 

 

Shots rang out from afar, scaring the family once more and prompting the silent warrior woman to give her command. 

 

“Go.”

 

She speaks to him, aloof and steel. He nods his head in thanks. Unable to speak for her gaze spoke volumes to him. Above all, it was the beast of three heads who loomed overhead. Large, taller than any building, and covering the family in its shadow, the young soldier drops his rifle. 

 

Grabbing his family and with renewed strength, moved them from the rubble. Kissing each other upon their cheeks and head, praising any god above, but most definitely giving gratitude to the woman who appeared. Helping his little brother aid their mother, the family limps away with assistance from the rescue team - watched quietly and with rapt attention by the blonde-haired savior. Upon the humans fading into safety and alarms dying down, all is left is the dings of war.

 

Ordering her rigging to fire its long barrels into the enemy, the accompanying Sirens are blasted and torn apart. Three draconic heads grab at the air. Strongly resembling the ancient myth of hydras, the beast rages. Guns click meticulously from their extended necks and blow up any opposition. As swiftly as she arrived, the threat in the area was completely gone. Dead is the Siren aircraft, and in its place is Bismarck, Flagship of the Iron Blood. 

 

She beckons for her rigging, and a head lowers. Perplexed by its master, the head tilts to hear her command. 

 

Instead, it is a meek question. 

 

“Am I-I that scary, Geryon?” Gone is her intense glare, “I was trying to be helpful.”

 

Geryon, unsure what to say, looks to its other two-thirds of consciousness. Literally making up two of his brain cells, the other two heads turn away. As if they, too, have no clue how to answer. Too embarrassed about how to approach her question, the third simply…boops her head.

 

Broken out of her stupor, she giggles briefly and pets the head, “Thank you, Geryon.” 

 

Surveying the battlefield once more, Bismarck charges past the rubble. Past the broken buildings, destroyed cars, and environment until she reaches the harbor's edge. From afar, she sees more of the battle shift toward the water. Allowing Bismarck to deploy her own skates for sailing as she smoothly skids into the waters. 

 

“To all Iron Blood forces,” her voice booms through her comms, “The enemy has been pushed out of the inner city. We must drag them into the waters to where they came!” 

 

“Aye, Lord Bismarck.” 

 

Cries ring out. Human forces left to guard Wihlemshaven have rallied as one cohesive force. Beating back the Sirens from the city as the rest of the fleet retreats. Paltry conditions show Bismarck this fleet was beaten back and nearly destroyed. 

 

In the din of battle, a smaller voice reaches her comms. Surfacing from waters afar, Bismarck sees the distant silhouette of a teal colored kind. Her happiness matches the grin of the submarine arriving at port. A familiar dutiful one, which dives into the water. 

 

Beelining immediately for the flagship, the kansen closes in on her position. Geryon, for his credit, wearily prepared itself for the threat. Yet, Bismarck soothes its stress, the familiarity stands the rigging down as the shape comes closer and closer. Bismarck barely had time to react to the waters exploding before her. 

 

“Lord Bismarck!” Hugging her midsection, small arms wrapped around the flagship’s waist, “Reporting for duty!” 

 

“Parsival!” She greets her hugging her back, “I’m glad you could make it.” 

 

“Of course! I promised I will be there for you!” She breaks away and salutes gleefully, “When I heard the call, I made sure I came as soon as I could!” 

 

“Good,” Bismarck’s smile dies. She doesn't like what she'll say next, “As much as I hate to do this to you. I need you somewhere else.” 

 

“W-wah?!” U-556 hand drops, “B-but L-Lord Bismarck! I came here to protect you!” 

 

“I know, my most loyal knight,” a pang of guilt tugs at her heart, “And it's because of this, I need you to protect someone else for me. Right, I have only you who I can trust to accomplish this.” 

 

The loyal knight looks at her then at Geryon. She weighs her options and thinks on her feet. Closing her eyes and clenching her hands she almost bursts with emotion. Bismarck thought her decision backfired until the submarine opened her eyes again and saluted. Standing straighter than ever. 

 

“Promise me you’ll be okay, Lord Bismarck?” 

 

“I promise,” the blond’s response is resolute. She feels her hand tremble again and only clenches it into a fist, “I'll be okay.” 

 

U-556 rushes to hug her again, wanting to feel the battleship’s embrace one more time before she departs, “What are your orders?” 

 

Nodding proudly, Bismarck hands her an electronic chip, “A distress beacon was sent out by one of our own. A lone U-boat who is carrying vital data. She’s in dire need of assistance and I can’t spare any more girls to save her. Near the zone up north by what was once Oslo. This device should allow you access to the zone.” 

 

Taking the device with care, U-556 holds it tightly, “I understand. I won’t let you down.” 

 

“You never had, Parsival.” Bismarck pats her head. 

 

U-556 smartly salutes Bismarck, but not without another quick hug for extra measure. She sails over the waters until she reaches the deeper part. Summoning her own rigging from the waters and jumping back into the water. She looks back with one more smile and waves before submerging. 

 

Briefly, Bismarck wavers on her feet, and her vision blurs. Her energy saps by every second while her heart beats faster. The Sirens have sparked a drive for her to move past her limits and weakening body. 

 

They attacked her home. Wilhelmshaven. And she calls for their scrap. 

 

Humanity under Bismarck had repelled the enemy and quickly took back the city, yet more attempted to fire back. Nearing her sector, the remaining resistance musters together. What had kept this near-endless flow of Sirens is suddenly melting back into the sea. The remaining ones are either stuck in battle or prevented by their programming from retreating. 

 

Bismarck knows Kiel has been secured by her sister. Killing whatever Siren decided to enact their sick plans. Which means she needs to clear the remnants of their forces here. 

 

Peering over the waters, she sees them - more Siren aircraft supporting a group of Siren ships. Rooks, their version of a battleship, fire from afar in neatly organized pairs - six spread out to target Bismarck - meaning to keep her from joining the action and blowing apart the main fleet. Unfettered and uncaring for their resistance, Bismarck raises her banner, and Geryon knows what it must do. 

 

Opening their jaws, the three heads charge up heated blasts and aim them directly at the Rooks. They belch loudly in a screeching symphony of incoming death, launching their shells at the Sirens and firing all their guns. Blasting apart all but one Rook, who slowly retreats from the battle. Seeing the disgusting cowardice, Bismarck motions her head, and Geryon dives into the water. 

 

Swimming and thrashing upwards with its anti-air armaments, the aircraft above attempted to strafe and bomb the rigging. Being able to avoid each round by diving into the harbor’s waters, they would jump up and latch violently onto aircraft too close to the waters - merely destroying the others with their jaws. In one quick swoop, Geryon gulps the aircraft. 

 

Bursting from the waters onto the smoking helpless husk of a Rook, Geryon tears into the last remaining Siren ship. The Rook was torn to shreds by gunfire and bite marks. Quickly as it was deployed, Geryon reemerges with its master - appearing by her side as she sails over to inspect the damages. 

 

“...good,” Bismarck studies Geryon’s body, “The restraints are still working. Even in your limited output, you performed exceedingly.” 

 

The beast hums back happily, satisfied with its masters’ approval. 

 

“Patrol Emil to port,” Her comms erupt, “Gneisenau and I made it! We received your call!” 

 

“And you are welcomed, Scharnhorst.” Bismarck recognizes the voice of one of her own fleet, “I’m surprised. Where’s the rest of your fleet? I assumed they would’ve arrived with you.”

 

"No one is responding from the base," Gneiesenau joins the conversation, “I’ve been trying to reach the Floating Fortress, but not even the Kommadant is responding.” 

 

Frowning, Bismarck pieces together the situation. Thinking this was an attack to provoke the Iron Blood before their next major steps. Or another reason altogether. Whatever her reservations and thoughts, there’s a battle right in front her that is resuming. 

 

Looking over the outskirts of the city, she sees them. Two battleships sail across the waters with their escort. Reinforcement may have come in late but not unwanted. 

 

“Sirens!” Scharnhorst barks into her comms. 

 

“They’re the remains.” Bismarck informs them, then darkens her tone, “Scrap them.” 

 

“Aye!” 

 

Taking her rest and watching from afar, she sees the ‘Ugly Sisters’ dispatch the remaining forces retreating. Reverting back into their riggings and immediately tearing into the forces. Letting them mop up the rest, Bismarck thinks about what had transpired. 

 

The Sirens struck out of nowhere. Targeting major differences first and completely overriding the city’s forces. While the humans could muster a proper response and hold the initial force, the destruction was daunting - most of the city was leveled, which greatly upset the Pride of the Iron Blood. Her blood boils, but her mind is abuzz. This attack. It was too brief. Too weak. 

 

The Sirens planned this as a diversion but for what?

 

The attack on Wilhelmshaven was overwhelming and devastating, giving little time for the city to evacuate. The devastation across the city saddens her. Had she known they would attack, she would’ve prepared sooner. 

 

“Scharnhorst,” she calls out, “Who do you have with you?” 

 

Waiting momentarily, she responds, “My sister, a destroyer escort, and that’s it. We were out on patrol when the alarms went off.” Sounds of weapons booming cuts her words, “Damn, the Sirens went past our defenses and even us!” 

 

“I know,” Bismarck calmly agrees while they converse, and she sets sail for the patrol, “This force broke off from attacking Kiel just so they could target us. The city held, but the people suffered.” 

 

“How the hell-” Scharnhorst mumbles, yet stops, “How did they get past us? Did the Northern Parliament let a few stragglers pass?”

 

“No,” the flagship exclaims, finally approaching the pair on her skates, “They did not.” 

 

Gunfire breaks out once more. Hearing the sounds of shells being fired and booming pushes of turrets - Bismarck knows the sound of battleships engaging the enemy. She arrives at their location, heading past the remains of her recent victims. Scharnhorst and Gneiesenau, too engrossed in their own battle to pay close attention to their support, deal with the dregs of the fleet. 

 

All that remains is one large hull and its damaged escort. Human weapons had left the fleet heavily scarred. Laser burns and holes riddled their hulls. Smoke from all of them left a sense of pride in Bismarck’s garrison, people who have put their all into the defense of her port. 

 

“One large Queen,” Bismarck remarks to herself, “That’s where all the aircraft keeps coming from.” 

 

Engrossed in dealing with the Sirens escort team, Bismarck focuses on the main threat. The Queen still launched aircraft into the air, largely intact compared to the ships that were guarding it. Bismarck fired upon the Queen, taking advantage of the carrier’s focus on the arriving battleship patrol. Ordering Geryon to fire its salvos in carefully aimed arcs. 

 

Roaring into the air, the Siren ship realized where the true threat lay. In an attempt to turn its aircraft around, they get shot down from another source nearby. A destroyer, quiet in her work and seeing Bismarck’s arrival - supported the flagships’ support with one of her own. Keeping the aircraft away as Bismarck deals her finishing blow. 

 

Crackling and consuming the Queen, the aircraft carrier’s last aircraft, attempting to fly once more, failed. Not satisfied with her work, Bismarck fires one last shell - finishing off any attempts for the Queen to self-repair or fight back. The Siren ship breaks in half and breaks the aircraft it had with it. 

 

Finally, Scharnhorst and Gneisenau were finishing up the remaining forces. Having seen the carnage, the sisters did their own work. Killing off the remnants of the Siren Queen’s escort and breaking apart the last one. 

 

“Woo!” Scharnhorst yelps out in a cheer, “Man, whoever you sent to help us really wrecked the house! And I thought we were the support!” 

 

“Glad to be of service,” Bismarck smiles, “I’m happy to see you two again.” 

 

“You bet. It was an awesome fight! One I needed all day!” Scharnhorst cheers again before stopping, “Hey, who have we been speaking to? I know Bismarck was the one who sent the signal…but….”

 

“She was here all along.” 

 

“What do mean?” She scowls at Bismarck, not recognizing who was standing before her, “Huh, thanks for the assist…never met you before.” 

 

Gneisenau is the first to clear her throat, “Sister, that’s Lord Bismarck.” 

 

“You’re joking,” she looked her up and down, “Lord Bismarck, you’re… you’re-.”

 

“I am, but not for long,” Bismarck explains quickly, already feeling the weight on her shoulders. Geryon shakes at this feeling, too, “I don’t have much longer to stand before I need to return to rest.” 

 

“Hey!” She stumbles into the hands of Gneisenau, who is ready to catch her, “Lord Bismarck…I can’t believe it.”

 

“Yeah, I told you, sis!” Scharnhorst helps with Bismarck’s other side, “I wasn’t crazy when I heard her voice.” 

 

“Being right is less of an issue,” Her sibling rolls her eyes, “Lord Bismarck, we’re glad to see you again. We thought you fell in that reenactment. How are you still standing?” 

 

“Barely,” Bismarck stands up, “They decided to attack my home. I had to come to its defense.” 

 

“Yeah, no kidding,” Scharnhorst whistled at the broken site of ships and hulls, “This can’t be done by the garrison. This is impressive. Hell, you even took down all its aircraft.” 

 

Being quiet and to the side, Z46 mumbles, “...uh-huh.” Not voicing her opinion any further because her attention is drawn to the greater picture. The port itself. 

 

“Thank you,” Bismarck grips her hat over head, grimacing, “I’m afraid it wasn’t enough to prevent this.” 

 

“What do you mean?” Gneisenau questions. A question quickly answered by Bismarck showing her port behind her. Pillars of smoke are still rising even as armored humans fill the streets, sweeping the ruins.

 

Awed by seeing the harbor motivates the ships, “ Mein Gott. ”

 

“Fuckers,” Scharnhorst spits on the water. Namely, on a floating piece of Siren scrap, “Don’t have the gall to fight us directly, so they attack the harbor first. What the hell.”

 

Seeing as the only kansen present are with her, the flagship considers her options. The attack came from the one direction it wasn’t supposed to - however it was a long shot in the dark if she was correct. Sirens can teleport from anywhere yet they wouldn’t normally appear so suddenly like this. This was a measure they enacted quickly in response to circumstance. Their grand experiment needed a correction in an area none of them expected. A scientist of her own caliber, there are too many variables to account for. 

 

One thing is clear, she needs to act. Her fleet is in danger. 

 

Addressing the three ships, Z46 who had remained in silence; Bismarck cleared her throat. 

 

“With Wilhelmshaven secured, our people will shore up defenses and rebuild. We cannot remain here for long, for the Sirens may muster their forces again and attack. We will sail for the mouth of the strait and rendezvous with more forces coming from Kiel,” she explained to them, “The Admiral is already on his way to the base up north with a relief force.” 

 

She hopes Eugen is intercepted. Being the right hand woman of the flagship, Bismarck knows the vital resources needed on the base were more than riggings. Iron Blood can summon their riggings from any location no matter the distance if need be. It's the base’s other important secrets that need to be secured. Leaving it in the back of her mind, she needs to focus on her fleet first and foremost. 

 

With their orders given, the small contingent awaits her command. Seeing their faces leaves Bismarck a mixed feeling of appreciation and apprehension. She’s not ready to take command yet. Far from it. However, if she can for a short time, both to prove herself to those around her and those beneath her. Then she’ll carry out her duties. 

 

For her sister, for U-556, and for herself. 

 

“To the Fortress,” Bismarck declared, “Our fleet is in danger and the Sirens seek to attack us all. We will push them back.” 

 

Lifting up her banner, Bismarck musters her strength, “For the Iron Blood!” 

 

They raise their voices, “For the Iron Blood!"

Chapter 9: Escaped Fork

Summary:

Ulrich and Gneisenau META investigate the Tower of Midgard.

Only to fight for their lives to escape.

The Tower of Midgard. 

 

Named after their ancient myths and Nordic roots, the Iron Blood crafted this megalithic structure from human ingenuity and Siren technology. Ulrich is aware of this as one of its caretakers, alongside the likes of Peter Strasser and under the direction of Lord Bismarck. She knows the machinations as best as anyone in the fleet. Deep down, however, a truth none will admit out loud…she barely understands it.  

 

And right now is one of those fucking moments. 

 

"This is all gone to shit." Ulrich's fingers tap loudly across a terminal, "Power is going through the roof…who the hell turned this on…damn it, damn it, damn it." 

 

Squarely focused on the humming engines of the Tower and how it bursts with life. 

 

An action Ulrich knows it's never supposed to do. 

 

"Need help?" 

 

She knows her voice. That doesn't stop Ulrich from scrutinizing who asked before returning to her console. 

 

"Hell yeah, Gneisenau," Ulrich gives a passing grunt, "Whatever you can do, monitor the other systems."

 

"Surely," the META pushes up her glasses and takes to the console. Tapping a few commands and weaseling her through various screens, system descriptions, and status updates. 

 

"Power stabilization?" Ulrich asks, taking the reins of the situation at the head console. A floating pad of hard light and holographic imagery. 

 

"Rising over twenty percent," Gneisenau META moves over, "Engines working past max capacity." 

 

"Coolant systems?" the battleship licks her lips, checking the crackling light of the portal, "Security? Communications? Whatever the fuck is the stuff we use for the pipes?" 

 

"Stable, offline, offline, and filtration. And before you ask, from what I'm reading…I don't see any tampering. Everything is working as it should." 

 

"Who else can be screwing with this machine?" Ulrich huffs loudly, "Hard to not say, 'Sirens.'" 

 

"I don't think they are the ones this time…" Gneisenau wonders aloud, "I may not be as inclined to electronics as some of my own kind. I know enough to see Siren intervene, and this doesn't reek of their turmoil." 

 

"What, and your wisdom is enough to think this isn't them?" Ulrich bites back. 

 

"Yes," Gneisenau pushes her glasses up again, "Because I found out who turned it on." 

 

"Who?" 

 

"It's…best you see for yourself." 

 

Ulrich glares intently at the indifferent battleship, then at the screen, she is at. Hardened as her look was, it changed instantly to shock, then disbelief, ending in a mix of the two. Blinking and rubbing her eyes, she shakes her head. 

 

"Horseshit," Ulrich snarls at the screen, "Can't be." 

 

Sounds of slamming erupt from under Ulrich's balled-up hands. 

 

"It has to be a fluke. There's no way," She screams back, her nerves fraying more to her stress, "The hell is that possible." 

 

Backing away, the gray-haired woman keeps her hands up, "The credentials match." 

 

She directs Ulrich over to one of the only physical consoles. Inputted in is a set of codes and a serial number. More frowning at the console's information. More stress building up in her already tired mind. And evermore conclusions usually ending in a curse word and a wish for more caffeine - Ulrich takes a moment and breathes. 

 

Meanwhile, the machine crackles more to life. The portal opens increasingly, revealing the different paths and possibilities the two can take. Neither can come up with another option - to close the entrance and get the machine to shut down. 

 

"...okay," Ulrich breaks from her stupor to think clearly, "Has to be someone impersonating. A hack. Since I strongly believe it's not him, it has to be someone else getting inside." 

 

"Hang on," Gniesenau taps the screen twice for insurance and swipes through lines of words and code. 

 

"Well? What did you want me to wait for?" 

 

"...the credentials were inputted from the inside." The gray-haired woman takes on a pensive thought, "Inside…Inside. How?" 

 

"I already know this, Gneisenau." 

 

"Not from these consoles," she motions to the now wide-open surge of energy, "The access came from within the portal." 

 

Grinding to a halt, Ulrich tentatively bites her bottom lip. 

 

"Clarify." 

 

"Activation came from the other side. Information points to an external source activating the tower, but the recipient has finished the transition. Whatever, whoever started this hasn't crossed over." the portal crackled to declare its unwanted operation, "There's only one way to know." 

 

At a crossroads, her frustration boils with her low groan, "I can't leave the base while it's under attack." 

 

"My sister can take care of them," Gneisenau's glasses shine, hiding the glint of hope on her face, "They have enough firepower and kansen to fight back. We aim to keep whatever is trying to get through from coming here." 

 

The battleships stare at each other and then at the portal. A decision is contemplated and made in an instant.

 

"Whatever asshole opened it...I'm kicking their teeth in or whatever Siren is the closest," Ulrich summons her rigging. Large spider-like extensions erupt from behind her. "I need a drink after this. Mind coming along?" 

 

"No problem. Besides you're going to need the firepower for any possible Sirens," Gneisenau snorts and then offers a hand, "Also, you're paying for the drinks."

 

"Fuck off." 

 

"That's the spirit!" 

 

---

 

Lights flash, and energy hums. Appearing from the shapeless gate, two figures arrive at a similar-looking location. Identical to the same Tower of Midgard they left. Weapons armed and backed to each other, Ulrich and Gneisenau META watch their surroundings. 

 

Ulrich is the first to notice "Dark. Really dark here. Feels like a Mirror Sea."

 

"It is." Gneisenau closes her eyes, "Don't sense any METAs or Sirens. We should be safe for now."

 

"Lots of cubes around. Know why?"

 

"Negative."

 

"Damn," the kansen grunts aggressively, "Checking console…."

 

Taking another step, Ulrich freezes. Her foot slushes into a puddle, "Oil?"

 

"Blood too," The META ship calls out from droplets leading down a trail, "Any humans who have access to this besides the Kommadant?"

 

"There shouldn't be. This project was built in total secrecy from the public." Ulrich boots up the terminal, "All the resources were taken from abandoned bases, and wrecks scrapped from the war." 

 

"Interesting," Gneisenau listens, holding a hand to her ear, "Total silence. The sight of scorch marks is not making this easier." 

 

Upon booting up the terminal, the lights around the entry point turn on. Gasping from afar alerts the pair. 

 

"Hey, down the walkway."

 

Gneisenau's rigging clicks on and rumbles under chains, "Contact. Two figures."

 

"Hey!" Ulrich calls out as she slowly inches over with her guns trained, "This is a restricted area! State your business!" 

 

"Kansen!" Relief bleeds from her voice as much as the blood from the man she is holding. Who is relying solely on the gauntleted grip of his support, "I'm a kansen, too! Iron Blood!"

 

Ulrich shares a glance at Gneisenau, nodding to each other. Ulrich heads over to help while Gneisenau maintains a safe distance. Ready to fire if the situation turns hostile. 

 

The unknown kansen lifts the man up. Bruises and blood dripping from his face. Faded, tattered clothes show the age and colors of a familiar black and red. Seeing the injuries, Ulrich runs up and helps the new kansen. Laying him down on the ground as he moans quietly. 

 

It's obvious he's a human officer of some sort, although his face was unrecognizable behind all the bruises. 

 

"Shit…" The battleship puts her fingers to his throat and wrist, "He's barely alive. I have a medical box in my rigging. It should…help."

 

Closer and easier to see, Ulrich notices the condition of the Kansen, "You're bleeding too. Here," appearing in her hands from the void her rigging resides in is a kit with a wrench symbol, "Take it."

 

The kansen nods and sits down. Her uniform showed the same wretched condition. What was a skirt is scorched around the edges, her jacket sleeves burned off, and gauze wrapped up to her shoulders. Ulrich works closely on the human to the best of her knowledge while occasionally stealing a glare at the supposed Iron Blood ally. 

 

"Who are you?" Blond hair, yellow eye color, "How did you get stuck in a Mirror Sea?" 

 

"I was separated from my Kommadant," she explains while opening the repair kit, "Fighting the pests forever. Tired. Really tired."

 

Ulrich gulps. No one should be out here. Let alone stuck in a Mirror Sea. "We're here, so you don't have to worry. Must've been a nasty patrol." 

 

The blond stays still, weight on her eyes, "...no, we were…hunting for them."

 

"Hunting," the term rubs Ulrich the wrong way, "Sirens are sirens, I guess."

 

"No," the blond kansen struggles to speak, "I was hunting monsters with my Kommadant. Fighting forever. It's what he wanted. To put an end to them."

 

"Hey, stay awake." Ulrich pats her hand on the kansen's hand, "We're friends, and we can pull you out from here. Think about your Kommadant, he's not doing well, and we're not in a secure area." 

 

Her reaction is strong, "No, no, no… he's not my Kommadant. He's not here." 

 

Gneisenau speaks, preoccupied with the Mirror Sea, "Then who's this random sack of flesh?" 

 

About to give her answer, no words escaped her mouth. She bobs her head back and forth before slumping over. Presumably, passing out. 

 

Ulrich shakes her, but she doesn't move, "Fatigue. Sleep deprivation. Don’t know about internal problems. And seeing the burns on this human, it seems like they were fighting to the death.” 

 

"Already on it," the META assists, activating the portal's boot-up process, "Oh no…."

 

Ulrich gets up, carrying the human in a bridal carry and using her rigging to grab the unconscious kansen. "Sirens?" 

 

"I'm not sure," Gneisenau looks off in a random direction, "Whatever it is, it has more red flags than a Northern Parliament parade." 

 

A roar. Or what is thought of as roar screeches across? Turrets move, and riggings rumble in preparation. The waters ripple at its presence, and looming darkness erupts around the tower. Floating towards the group, the object crawls atop the water. Then it breaks into a speeding flow. 

 

"Uh, Gneisenau?" Ulrich moves around the human lying in her grasp, "The portal?" 

 

"I'm trying. Hang on." 

 

Despite the size of the blotchy entity - the water jettisoning behind it displays its speed. 

 

And it is arriving at its destination at an alarming rate.  

 

"Uhh, that giant death ball is gaining on us," Ulrich holds the human tightly, "Gneisenau?!" 

 

"I'm trying! Hang on, verdammt !" She pounds the terminal, "Work faster!"

 

The screeching is getting closer. Clearer. Grating. 

 

Its visage creates a horrible feeling in Ulrich. One she's only felt in the worst battles or when she was told she couldn't come with her sister. She quickly feels the sweat dripping down her neck. 

 

Panic. 

 

She barely takes two steps before it completely closes the distance. 

 

The air changes, the light - it's being eaten by the thing's presence. 

 

Ulrich doesn't even turn around. Her horror was illuminated by Gneisenau falling to her knees. 

 

"Gneisenau!" 

 

Coincidentally, upon yelling her name one more time, lights burst forth. The portal has opened up, and it has stopped the monster. In her haze, the META ship - instead of simply hopping in - fires a shot at the creature. Breaking her shock and shaking her head violently. 

 

"Ah," she holds her temples, "Gah, it's… it's messing with my senses! I can't see!" 

 

"Get a hold of yourself!" Ulrich feels the air, "Oh no." 

 

Throwing herself to the ground, Ulrich narrowly avoids the incoming limb crash next to her. Shaking the floor and slathering the floor with black liquid and ocean water. Bubbling, crackling, and indescribable noise comes from the thing. Although audible, whatever noise it secretes ripples against their hearing. Causing Ulrich to cover her ears and nearly drop the human, who stirs at the sound. 

 

He garbles his speech to Ulrich, but she can't hear it under the strain of stress and the pounding of her heart. Resisting the urge to turn around lest she risk the same fate of her comrade at arms. To see the same creature that somehow discombobulated Gneisenau, who is writhing with her head. 

 

"Gah," her hands tear off her glasses. Only to rub her eyes. Another metallic tentacle comes forward but is successfully beaten back by her rigging. The beasts, their typically red and yellow hues, are sickly green colors. Their bodies vibrate violently as they attack the tendril. Biting back at it before it retreats back to whatever thing is behind Ulrich. 

 

"Gneisenau!" Ulrich screams for her help. Instead, three people appear from the now active portal. 

 

No other options, she arches her guns behind her. Hoping to hit the thing with her firepower. Even if it just makes her stop hearing the horrible noise. 

 

Two, three, four shots later. None hit their mark. And the last one painfully flies so far off Ulrich can hear it splash in the water.

 

There's no use. Without proper sight, Ulrich is firing into a void. 

 

"...Sorry, Freidrich," she whispers, "I can’t fight alongside…." 

 

Biting her words back, she looks at the weak, feeble man in her arms. He whispers once more which grabs her attention. She doesn’t know what those words were. Nor did she try to ask again. Only that she grips him closely, rising to the occasion. 

 

"Fuck this." 

 

She stood high, looking at the threat.

 

And she…

 

She.

 

While she tried, Ulrich could not comprehend what was before her. Whatever it was that rapidly bounded to their position - was, is formless. A mass of parts cloaked in a black shroud of unending depth. Volumes of light are sponging themselves into the thing's very being. There is a shape to its violence, which takes the form of multiple tendrils seeking to crush her. 

 

"Keep firing!" Ulrich ducks to see Mainz flying out of the portal, fresh from a fight by the blood pouring down her forehead. 

 

The cruiser slashes at the tendrils with her saber. Pushing back the creature with a near-endless barrage. Mainz's energy shield erupts when one tendril threatens to break past and hit her. Stopping the thing from ever touching her. 

 

Sneering at the thing, Mainz shouts, "Odin!" 

 

"On it!" the small white-haired woman pulls out her sword and slashes it - beating back an encroaching tendril, "Hear me, leviathan! Taste my wrath!" 

 

With their giant maws wide, two rigging heads fire a blinding light. 

 

Ulrich closes her eyes in time as the bursts shoot over her and at the beast. Seeing this as her chance, she crawls forward towards them. Letting the battle rage around her as she is picked up by two fresh pairs of hands. 

 

"Gotcha!" Ulrich peeks through one eye to see a redhead, "Weser? Strasser?” 

 

“Came right on time, Ulrich?” Supporting her is the carrier "Girls! Retreat! Don't let it come through!" 

 

A chorus of confirmation cheers, "Aye!" 

 

“Grab Gneisenau!” She manages to scream out, "She's over here!" 

 

“Got her!" A familiar yet not so voice picks up the cradling shipgirl, "Almost a goner again, sis?"

 

“H-heh-hah…” 

 

Ulrich clutches her eyes shut. Only feeling her enter the portal. Never opening them even. Not even when the feeling of different fresh air came to her face. Not even when the voices of other ships come to their aid and take the bloody man from her grasp. Not even as she cradles her head, she is held by who she assumes is Strasser. 

 

Although they beat back the monster and hastily closed the portal. Ulrich feels it. 

 

Constantly going through her mind is the last sight of a horrible abomination. 

 

That monster burns through her mind.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 6 of Checkered Board's Universe