“How did this even cross your mind?” Queen Elizabeth said, utterly shell-shocked as she stared out the window.
The reflection of raging fires danced across her face.
The main base of the Royal Navy was burning.
Where mighty battleships, elegant cruisers, and dignified aircraft carriers once stood proudly, thick black smoke now choked the sky.
In less than a week, the impenetrable citadel against the Sirens had been reduced to a laughingstock.
“Why?” The flagship turned from the window to glare at a guilt-ridden Formidable, whose head hung low.
“Why did you do this?!” The proud British aircraft carrier darted her eyes around the room, desperately seeking support from Prince of Wales or Belfast, but both awkwardly averted their gazes.
The girl still couldn’t fathom how the tiny “fairy”—as the owner of the room on the other side of the portal called him—could inflict such catastrophic damage.
She had only grabbed him out of sheer curiosity.
She had no explanation for the overwhelming impulse that cost her a ruined dress and a pair of missing high heels.
The tiny captive’s comrades had fought back fiercely and brutally, but a single platoon of Marine sprites wasn’t enough to inflict any real damage on a fleet carrier.
However, by coordinating their assault with that bizarre cat, they managed to force her into a hasty retreat.
Once safely back in her room, Formidable had breathed a sigh of relief.
But the tiny prisoner had zero intention of surrendering.
The miniature spirit broke free from the Kansen’s grip, vanished into parts unknown, and subsequently launched a literal one-man war.
Dumping salt in the sugar bowls or replacing cocoa powder with ash—that was just the innocent stuff.
Detonating indoor plumbing, destroying antique furniture, burning classified documents…
The list of achievements by a single Marine from Ulyanovsk’s detachment was genuinely staggering.
He had even somehow managed to hold his own in a brawl against Sheffield, who had managed to track the saboteur down.
According to the destroyers and the admiral who witnessed it, the fight was as terrifying as it was completely ridiculous.
The Kansen, vastly superior in height and mass, was completely unprepared for the ferocious counterattack of a fairy wielding a kitchen knife like a polearm.
And the former POW had no intention of stopping there…
“I have no idea how he managed to incite the Manjuu to rebel,” Formidable exhaled.
Outside the window, tight formations of yellow chicks—each the size of a large dog—were surrounding the HQ building.
The helper spirits, summoned exclusively to serve the Shipgirls, had seemingly turned against their masters overnight.
Construction crews, support vessel navigators, cooks, mechanics—all united by some incomprehensible grievance.
Unicorn had attempted to pacify the rioting mob of Manjuu-cooks by transforming her plushie into a two-meter-tall, muscular bodybuilder.
The result?
The buff unicorn was beaten to a pulp, hogtied, and taken hostage.
Seeing her beloved pet tied to a lamppost in the courtyard, the poor light carrier burst into tears and absolutely refused to leave her room.
“Fairies are support spirits…
I thought it would be possible to establish contact with them to ascertain the full extent of their capabilities,” the girl tried to justify herself.
“Take a look outside!” the venerable dreadnought pointed at the window.
“Are you satisfied?!” “Your Majesty, please do not agitate yourself,” Belfast tried to soothe Queen Elizabeth.
“Everything will be resolved shortly.
Here, have some tea,” she placed a steaming mug on the table.
“We just need to hold out until reinforcements from the Northern Parliament arrive.” “Where on earth did this ‘Donald Pidge’ even come from?” the dreadnought grumbled, settling into her throne-like chair.
…The legs of which immediately exploded.
The little girl, the physical manifestation of the legendary lead dreadnought of the Queen Elizabeth class, tumbled to the floor amidst the smoking ruins of her chair.
“How much more of this…” the Kansen whimpered.
“Your Majesty!” Warspite burst into the office without knocking.
“The rebel leader has issued his demands!
They demand a total ban on any Kansen entering the kitchen, or the Manjuu will storm the building!” “That is outrageous!” Belfast exclaimed.
“The Royal Maids wouldn’t be able to fulfill their duties!” “Your Majesty!” A tall, curvaceous blonde in a red military tunic and red cavalry boots sprinted into the room right behind her.
“Northern Parliament reinforcements are here!” The battleship Nelson, the pride of the Royal Navy, looked absolutely miserable.
Her hair was matted with mud, her uniform was covered in scorch marks.
She was heaving breaths like she had just run a marathon.
One of her signature twintails had completely unraveled.
“Rodney is holding the line, but if the Manjuu storm the commander’s house, we will be forced to capitulate,” the battleship delivered the grim news.
“This is bad,” Prince of Wales, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up.
“Perhaps we should simply accept their demands?
At least that way we can cover up the bulk of what happened here.” “And go without Bel’s pastries?!” Elizabeth jumped to her feet.
“Never!
The Royal Navy does not surrender!” Belfast looked at her flagship with beaming pride.
Formidable and Prince of Wales merely shook their heads in dismay.
“Attention all violators!” a voice with a heavy, distinct accent boomed from the direction of the port, amplified by a megaphone.
“On behalf of the acting authority, I demand you cease this riot and disperse!” “Is that Kronshtadt?” Nelson asked.
“Doesn’t sound like Stalingrad,” Wales nodded.
“Her accent is slightly different.” “Why can’t we, one of the finest fleets on the planet, breed that caliber of Meowfficers?” Queen Elizabeth pouted, marching back to the window.
Out on the street, advancing from the piers, a solid black wave was rolling toward the Manjuu.
Tall, humanoid white cats, encased from head to toe in black Kevlar riot gear, marched in perfect lockstep, raising tactical riot shields in front of them.
Right behind them rolled a heavily armored water cannon truck, its blue and red lights flashing aggressively.
[image here] “I want a Meowmon too!” Elizabeth stomped her foot.
“Unfortunately, the Northern Parliament refuses to share the documentation regarding their sports teams,” Prince of Wales tried to comfort her.
“What kind of idiotic sport is ‘Revolution and Regime’ anyway?!
How did they even come up with something like that?!” “Rumor has it, it evolved from a children’s game,” Belfast mused.
“Cops and Robbers, I believe…” Formidable made a mental note to ask Ulyanovsk if they had anything like that in his world during their next meeting.
A meeting that would only happen if they managed to pacify the rioting Manjuu.
Meanwhile, the phalanx of riot cats parted, and a tall girl in a black skirt and a crisp white officer’s tunic with Captain 1st Rank epaulets stepped forward.
Her icy blue eyes swept over the sea of yellow creatures spread out before her.
“Your demonstration is unsanctioned and illegal!
Disperse immediately, or we will be forced to use physical measures!” Kronshtadt barked into the megaphone.
From the thick of the Manjuu crowd, a chick with a comically spiky tuft of feathers stepped forward and waddled toward her.
Stopping no more than ten meters from the foreign Kansen, he began to speak.
The group gathered in the HQ office couldn’t hear the rebel leader’s speech, but judging by the Kansen’s expression down on the street, Donald Pidge had agreed to negotiations.
“Limeys, have you completely lost your damn minds?!” Kronshtadt yelled, turning to face the Royal Navy Kansen in the windows after listening to the Manjuu.
“All of this,” she swept her hand toward the smoking base, “is because you couldn’t share a dough mixer?!” “Absolutely not!” Queen Elizabeth screamed, throwing the window wide open and leaning out.
She was instantly yanked back inside by her frantic Head Maid.
“Belfast’s pastries are the best!” the supreme flagship of the Royal Navy yelled, clinging desperately to the windowsill.
“Please do not aggravate the situation, Your Majesty,” the Head Maid pleaded, finally managing to pry Queen Elizabeth away from the window without ripping the frame out of the wall.
Down on the street, one of the heavily armored cats approached Kronshtadt, lifted his visor, and handed the Kansen a satellite phone grasped in massive, deceptively soft paws.
The Northern Parliament large cruiser listened intently to the voice on the other end, nodding curtly.
“Understood,” Kronshtadt spoke into the phone, ended the call, and handed the device back to the squad commander.
She turned to her riot squad, snapping out orders.
“Wedge formation between the protesters and the British…
fleet.
Clear the building, isolate, and extract any captured Kansen to the command vehicle!
Non-lethal force only!
Politely but firmly push the yellow team out of the occupied zones, exactly like the last home game.
Ignore all provocations, especially from the local authorities on the island.
I’ll review Donald Pidge’s demands and set up the negotiation table.” The Meowmons threw crisp salutes with their massive paws and unclipped the riot batons from their belts.
Raising their tower shields, they drove a wedge straight into the crowd of rioting helper spirits, leaving the Manjuu leader isolated with their commander.
Mountains of muscle with friendly, dopey cat faces hidden behind thick visors expertly split the enemy into two factions facing almost zero resistance, and flowed like a black river toward the HQ building.
*** “Why wasn’t I informed immediately that a squad sergeant was captured?” Ulyanovsk asked the commander of his attached Marine Force Recon detachment, who was currently standing on his kitchen table.
The aviation cruiser had simply sat down to write his after-action report, but his fairies had apparently been waiting for their host ship to finally get some downtime.
As it turned out, they had quite a story to tell, and they hadn’t been waiting for nothing.
‘Squeak!’ the head Marine nodded.
“The fact that he made it back on his own is great, obviously,” the guy said, scanning a sheet of paper with his report to verify his notes.
“And the fact that you guys attempted a rescue op for a fallen comrade is commendable.
But!” Ulyanovsk sighed heavily.
“Did any of you think about the political fallout?
Was I supposed to warn Command about an imminent interdimensional invasion?” The tiny recon commander shook his head vigorously.
‘Squeak-squeak!’ “I’m glad he was smart enough to rig the wardrobe with explosives before he left.
Are you absolutely sure the timer triggered?” The fairy beamed with pride and shot him a thumbs-up.
‘Everything’s peachy, don’t even doubt it.’ “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” the cruiser massaged his temples.
“But why start a revolution?
And more importantly—how the hell did he pull it off?” The tiny Marine shrugged, pantomiming that he had absolutely no idea how his subordinate managed to orchestrate something of that magnitude.
The story he had relayed reeked of absolute insanity.
Helper spirits rising up in armed rebellion against their masters just because Kanmusu occasionally tried to use the kitchen?
It was hard to believe, but he had the only firsthand witness right here.
The little saboteur had apparently instigated the riot purely as a distraction to draw the attention of the local Kanmusu, who were rightfully waiting for him at the portal.
Originally, the mini-Rambo had just planned to sabotage the dining hall to temporarily deprive the base of rations, but the situation had spiraled wildly out of control.
‘Different world, different rules.
What a madhouse,’ Ulyanovsk thought.
“Look, I get it.
Your job is to act first and ask questions later.
An eye for an eye and all that.
But what if they actually caught him?” A mocking, questioning chuckle echoed from the tabletop.
“Formidable can stop time, or at the very least, teleport.
Sirius hides a heavy broadsword in her cleavage.
What if there’s someone over there who, I don’t know, shoots lasers out of her eyes?” Ulyanovsk countered, but instantly got an answer.
“Wait, seriously?
There is?” The fairy waved his arms, pantomiming an invisible spear.
“From a spear?” The tiny spirit nodded.
“Okay, I can live with that…” But the sprite wasn’t finished with his debriefing.
“A plush toy horse that morphs into a two-meter-tall bodybuilder with a unicorn head and a purple mane?” The cruiser paled just visualizing it.
The fairy tapped his chin, thinking for a moment, and offered to summon the hero of recent events so he could explain it himself.
“Let him rest.
Poor guy’s been through enough.
Blowing the portal on the way out was a solid tactical call, fewer loose ends,” Ulyanovsk relaxed, anticipating a return to his peaceful life.
“Maybe the simultaneous destruction of both exit points collapsed the anomaly entirely.
I dismantled my end, anyway.” The chief Marine did not share her host’s optimism.
As she quickly explained, Kubik had attempted to go AWOL after the missing Marine had already returned.
“Are you sure the exit point changed?” the cruiser asked, checking the clock.
According to the spirit, the dresses hanging in the new wardrobe were tailored for someone significantly larger than the previous guests from the other side.
The trophy heels secured during the tactical operation to force Kubik into a peace treaty were also a size larger than the ones Formidable left behind.
When the host ship asked where the second pair of shoes went, the fairy vividly described an artillery battery bunkered down beneath black pump-style heels—a material that miraculously withstood the impact of a fin-stabilized discarding sabot round fired by the platoon’s assembled howitzer.
“Wait, so not only did you guys commandeer my unfinished diorama for your own needs, but you also decided to conduct live-fire 76mm artillery exercises inside my house?” the aviation cruiser stared at the tiny soldier, amazed by their sheer audacity.
The fairy put on a highly exaggerated look of shame, but it was clear he didn’t regret his tactical decisions for a second.
“Whatever, keep ’em.
Though I have no idea how you plan to deploy them on a real mission.
I have absolutely zero intention of trying to board an Abyssal ship,” the guy decided after a moment’s thought.
The Marine commander saluted and melted into thin air.
With about ten minutes left before his ride arrived to take him to HQ for the official debriefing, Ulyanovsk realized he physically didn’t have the time to draft a proper report for his handler from Naval Intel.
The paper lying on the table was meant for a very different set of people—the kind whose activities were either not spoken of at all, or only mentioned in hushed whispers.
Neatly folding the paper, the guy slid it into the inner pocket of his tunic and waited for his transport.
The car arrived right on schedule, but the young sailor behind the wheel looked like he had just sprinted a 5K.
The driver was a familiar face and usually loved to chat, but this time, the ride passed in dead silence.
Only as they pulled up to the HQ building did the kid finally open his mouth: “Captain, sir…
it’s, uh,” the sailor whispered, “the Suits are here.
Admiral Volkov is furious, and the whole HQ is on edge, pretending to be furniture.” “They going hard?” “Vasyan1 at the checkpoint said they’re suppressing everyone just with their aura.
Real big wigs,” the sailor shrugged.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” Ulyanovsk nodded thoughtfully.
He had expected the Spooks to show up; after all, he had filed a request yesterday regarding the absolute necessity of a reactor refueling.
The nuclear watchdogs were incredibly sensitive about radioactive materials, and every time the aviation cruiser needed his reactors serviced, it caused a minor panic attack for the base command.
But it usually wasn’t enough to make the entire officer corps lose their minds over what was, essentially, a routine procedure.
The answer awaited him in the admiral’s office, where a trim, middle-aged man in a sharp business suit was sitting in the commander’s chair.
“Didn’t expect to see you here, Lev Rafailovich,” the aviation cruiser greeted the relatively short man, who somehow wielded enough authority to kick a full-fledged base commander out of his own office.
And cause a base-wide panic attack in the process, which spoke volumes about his position in the intelligence hierarchy.
Plus, he probably didn’t come alone.
“Good afternoon, Ulyanovsk,” the man replied evenly.
“Take a seat,” he nodded at the chairs positioned perpendicular to the desk.
“I take it the final debrief is postponed?” The man didn’t rush to answer, waiting until the cruiser sat down.
Not wanting to waste time, the guy pulled the folded report from his tunic and silently slid it across the desk to the intelligence officer.
“Your command was already briefed on all the information required by protocol,” the man said, skimming the handwritten notes before sliding the cruiser’s report into a folder on the desk.
“There is no need to waste time filling out redundant paperwork.” “If only it were always like this,” Ulyanovsk chuckled softly.
“Regulations are regulations.
Deviating from them is only permitted in extreme circumstances,” the officer clarified.
“Talk to me.
From the beginning.
In order.” And so the aviation cruiser began his debrief, heavily emphasizing the bizarre behavior of the Abyssal Fleet during the initial phase of the engagement.
He placed several disks on the desk containing raw telemetry from his sonar arrays and targeting systems.
The analytical department of Naval Intelligence was going to be working overtime, Ulyanovsk had no doubt about that.
He was also certain that in a few weeks, updated combat doctrines addressing specific hypothetical scenarios would land on the desks of Russian Kanmusu commanders.
And the admirals would be obligated to drill those doctrines into the girls.
When the story reached the parley with the high-tier Abyssals, Lev Rafailovich pulled out a separate notebook and began taking meticulous notes.
Ulyanovsk tried to describe the conversation with the Himes in painstaking detail, right down to the micro-expressions on the Abyssals’ faces.
He personally thought applying human psychology and motor functions to creatures that merely looked human was stupid, but the trained specialists might glean something useful from it.
“So, aside from her ability to cloak allied forces and strike high-altitude targets, this Hime can also teleport?” the officer verified the moment the cruiser finished his report.
“Not just herself.
She can displace others through space,” the guy confirmed.
“I’ve encountered similar phenomena before, in the same sector, but a Battleship Princess being moved dozens of kilometers with a snap of some fingers is new.” “I presume it is a matter of their hierarchy, but we will let the specialists untangle that,” the man sighed, stowing his notebooks into a leather briefcase on the desk.
“I highly doubt they will be satisfied with a single oral report, so prepare yourself for an in-person meeting with Naval Intelligence.” “Here, or…?” Ulyanovsk asked for clarification.
“In Gadzhiyevo,” the officer replied curtly.
“They will have your fuel mixture prepped in three days.
A special flight will pick you up.” “Thank you for the promptness, sir.” “It’s bad practice to leave soldiers hungry,” the man waved it off.
“Rest up for now.
And give your fairies a break from activating your air wing; you will have plenty of time for that after the trip.
Instead, study this,” he said, pulling a massive binder from his briefcase and sliding it across the desk.
“Rules for a naval combat tabletop game?” Ulyanovsk skimmed the text on the first few pages.
For what was fundamentally a simple game, the binder was insanely thick.
Roughly three hundred A4 pages packed with color photos, stat tables, and tactical diagrams.
“Wait a minute…” the cruiser’s eyes locked onto a photograph of an Abyssal destroyer miniature.
“You adapted a wargame for modern combat realities?” “Not just that,” the man nodded.
“Based on the intelligence you’ve gathered, the boys in the analytical department developed this tactical simulator.
Your objective is to study it and draft potential adjustments.
The team will be waiting for your input in Gadzhiyevo.” “Well damn,” Ulyanovsk drawled, reviewing the parameter table for an Abyssal destroyer.
As insane as the concept seemed at first glance, the analysts had approached the execution with dead-serious professionalism.
In fact, the aviation cruiser realized he couldn’t find a single glaring inconsistency between the written stats and what he had personally observed in live combat.
Even factoring in the massive allowance for dice rolls—which, to be fair, dictated the outcome of any real battlefield anyway.
“Well, it definitely beats sitting in a classroom,” the guy closed the binder, resolving to study the material deeply once he got home.
“And listening to lectures on the deployment of Cold War-era torpedoes from guys who never even sailed with them.” “That was precisely the mindset behind its creation,” the man permitted himself a fleeting smile.
“I won’t keep you any longer,” he leaned back in his chair.
“Have a good day, Lev Rafailovich,” Ulyanovsk stood up, saluted the Spook, and left the office.
The aviation cruiser headed home in a fantastic mood.
The impossibly fast resolution to his reactor refueling request had been a massive morale boost, completely overshadowing the heavy conversation with the Suits.
Especially since he had entirely bypassed the bureaucratic hell he had to crawl through last time.
He knew perfectly well that the real reason for his smooth sailing was his malicious compliance in filling out the mission reports exactly by the book.
Admiral Volkov had turned so red with rage that the aviation cruiser had actively calculated the splash radius of the man’s bursting blood vessels.
Either way, when Ulyanovsk opened his wardrobe looking for a clean t-shirt, his mood took an immediate nosedive.
Closing the door, he stared blankly at the scrap of red fabric hanging over the back of a chair.
Then, he opened the wardrobe again.
For a split second, it looked as though the neat rows of black and white dresses hanging on the rack had synchronously waved their sleeves at him.
“I thought they said they wired the other side with explosives,” the cruiser grumbled, wedging his slippers under the wardrobe doors to lock them open.
Without any hesitation, he shoved the dresses aside, cracked the back panel, and peeked through to the other side.
He was greeted by a bedroom draped in shadows, furnished with antiques so lavish he had only ever seen their likes in glossy magazines detailing the decadent lifestyles of the ultra-rich and old aristocracy.
Just the massive, four-poster canopy bed alone probably cost as much as the aviation cruiser’s salary for half a year.
However, no matter how opulent the room looked, Ulyanovsk’s trained eyes instantly spotted fresh paint on the walls and poorly sanded scorch marks on the parquet floor.
Weighing the pros and cons, the guy quietly shooed away Kubik—who was very curiously sniffing a pair of bunny slippers resting on a shelf—and jammed the door hinges just to be safe.
Now the four-legged menace couldn’t accidentally lock him in another dimension.
Cautiously, the aviation cruiser stepped into unfamiliar territory.
He quickly recognized the owner of the room as Formidable, though absolutely nothing remained of her previous image as an elegant lady.
Wrapped tightly in a thick blanket, the girl was clutching a pillow to her chest like a stuffed animal.
A blue nightcap, embroidered with silver snowflakes and topped with a white pom-pom, gleamed faintly in the moonlight.
A band-aid crossed over her cheek, and a slightly smaller one peeked out from under her bangs.
Compared to the rest of the antique furniture, the wardrobe the guy had just stepped out of looked brand new.
Hissing quietly at the cat again—who was getting entirely too aggressive chewing on the bunny slippers—the cruiser tried to creep toward the window to personally assess the fallout of his fairy’s sabotage operation.
He didn’t even manage a single step, despite moving as silently as possible.
The girl slowly rose, shifting into a sitting position.
He couldn’t see her face, obscured by the drooping nightcap, but he had a very clear view of a white top, one strap having slipped down to expose a creamy shoulder.
[image here] In the next second, the world froze.
A pillow—the one previously serving as a teddy bear substitute—flew squarely into the guy’s face.
It didn’t hit hard, exactly as Ulyanovsk would expect from a Kanmusu carrier, but combined with the sudden time-stop, it definitely had enough momentum to knock him off balance.
He braced himself for a furious tirade from the outraged girl, but she merely mumbled something about “insolent maids” and flopped back onto her pillow.
Taking a moment to appreciate the view of the well-endowed girl lying on her back, Ulyanovsk decided not to push his luck or attempt to repeat his fairy’s heroic exploits.
But as he approached the wardrobe to leave, a sharp, highly specific odor hit his nose, emanating directly from the bunny slipper Kubik had been chewing on.
“You little bastard,” the aviation cruiser hissed.
Sitting safely in his own room, the cat looked genuinely confused about what he had done wrong.
Behind the guy, someone coughed.
It was not the cough of a sleeping person.
“Just pretend this is all a dream,” Ulyanovsk said, glancing over his shoulder.
Sitting up in bed, having pulled the blanket all the way up to her chin, Formidable raised a questioning eyebrow.
“I don’t throw pillows in my sleep,” she replied, yawning and hastily covering her mouth with her hand.
“But since you came here yourself, this makes things much easier…” Vasily