Barely returning home, Shinano hurried straight toward the Sacred Sakura Shrine.
The visions had painted a highly alarming picture, and she desperately needed the counsel of an experienced shrine maiden to interpret them.
Reaching the sanctuary, however, proved to be no easy task.
Right outside her own quarters, Shinano’s sharp ears picked up a conversation from a flock of passing destroyers.
The unsuspecting Mutsuki-class sisters were quietly gossiping about Akagi taking the reins of the fleet.
From their chatter, the carrier maiden realized her unannounced little ‘trip’ had left a few glaring loose ends.
As a result, her peaceful stroll to the shrine was threatening to turn into a prolonged tactical stealth mission.
Shinano hadn’t accounted for the fact that, in the Admiral’s absence, the Supreme Flagship of the Sakura Empire would rather nap inside the Sacred Tree than actually manage fleet affairs.
And now, like a common thief, she had to sneak across the entire base just to avoid catching Akagi’s eye.
The crimson kitsune did not forgive mistakes, and by going AWOL and incapacitating her partner, Shinano had thoroughly derailed a few of Akagi’s carefully laid plans.
“Clear,” the girl whispered, taking a stealthy peek around the corner after finishing her eavesdropping.
“And who exactly are we hiding from?” a voice purred right behind her just as she was about to take a step.
In that exact same second, a hand clad in a black, four-fingered glove clamped down on her shoulder.
Looking back, Shinano found herself face-to-face with a tall brunette in a black-and-red kimono.
Her crimson eyes bored into the silver-haired carrier with a look that promised nothing but pure pain and suffering.
“You must be imagining things,” Shinano said curtly, trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t just acting like a stalker.
“You think so?” the brunette drawled thoughtfully.
Stepping around the silver-haired Kansen, Akagi peeked around the corner.
“I never thought you’d decide to follow in Ark Royal’s footsteps,” she pointed a finger at the flock of destroyer girls in the distance.
“You should be ashamed.
Come along, I’ll escort you to Fusou.
It isn’t too late to repent for your sins…” “That’s exactly where I was heading, Akagi,” Shinano replied, wincing as the red-eyed carrier tightened her iron grip on her shoulder.
“Well, isn’t that just wonderful,” Akagi sang with a deceptively happy smile, giving her ‘prey’ a firm shove forward.
“Come on, I’ll walk you.
And on the way, you can tell me exactly where you’ve been.” “I can manage on my own,” the Supreme Priestess of the Sakura Empire tried to squirm out of the former battlecruiser’s grip.
“And yet, I insist,” Akagi said, her smile never wavering.
“I’d hate to lose a valuable combat asset for another week.” The youngest—and currently, the only operational—representative of the Yamato-class behemoths could only sigh in defeat, putting her faith in fate.
Out of all the possible encounters, she had drawn the absolute worst-case scenario.
And right when her Gift was severely weakened, no less.
Her mind demanded rest after wandering the paths of dreams, but even more than rest, she needed an experienced priestess to help interpret what she had seen.
“Then let us hurry,” Shinano said, picking up her pace toward the sanctuary.
“I hope Fusou-sama is in…” “Where else would she be?” Akagi kept pace, refusing to remove her hand from the silver kitsune’s shoulder.
“She’s playing Ame-no-Uzume, trying to lure our Supreme Flagship out of her hollow…
Thank Kami she’s doing it without stripping and dancing for the sailors’ amusement.” Shinano deeply disliked the dripping disdain with which the red-eyed Kansen spoke of their flagship, but she understood the underlying reasons.
In the Admiral’s absence, the Sakura Empire fleet needed an iron fist, and Nagato simply wasn’t cut out for that role.
“I still don’t understand how, after the fiasco with the Washington Treaty, they gave her the flagship post back,” Akagi grumbled.
“You know the answer to that,” Shinano shot back quietly.
“You know perfectly well that answer doesn’t satisfy me at all.” A dark, dangerous glint ignited in Akagi’s eyes.
“What kind of person chooses some little girl over onee-sama?!” “Admiral Togo,” the silver-haired Kansen shook her head.
Stopping, she gently and reassuringly patted her companion on the head.
“Do not worry about it.
Your time will come, sooner or later.” “My sister’s talents are going to waste,” Akagi sighed, swatting the priestess’s hand off her head.
“Better tell me what exactly you saw.
It’s rare to see you in such a hurry.” “I found a shattered constellation,” Shinano whispered, looking around cautiously.
“Where?” Akagi demanded sternly, furrowing her brows.
“Far away.
They,” Shinano gave her companion a pointed look, “will not find out.
A lone shard, mutilated by the very thing that birthed the embers and ash.
Familial bonds severed, giving way to new ones.” “Only one?” “Yes.
The others are too weak, or they are sleeping.” “Alright, then,” Akagi decided after a few seconds of silence, processing the intel.
“We are going to Fusou right now.
But no one else learns of this except the three of us.” “What about the Commander?” “He is a temporary unit, and he is being watched.
Until further notice—we stay silent.
Clear?” Akagi asked demandingly, squeezing Shinano’s shoulder again.
“But they must know…” Shinano tried to argue.
“Too early,” the red-eyed carrier stamped out the protest.
“And another thing…” She leaned in, taking a deep sniff.
“Why do you smell like a man?” “That is…
um…” the silver-haired Kansen stammered.
“It’s better if you hear this from Fusou…” “Something tells me you’re just trying to talk your way out of this,” Akagi took another sniff.
“You literally reek of male bodily fluids!” Any attempt by Shinano to justify herself was instantly cut short by a furious shout: “There she is!” Both fox-girls spun toward the sound in perfect sync.
Marching rapidly toward them was a tall, long-haired brunette in a short red dress, wearing a haori embroidered with crane wings draped over her shoulders.
“Found you!” Zuikaku stepped right up to the fox duo, practically looming over Shinano.
Her grip on her katana was so tight her knuckles were stark white.
“Ara, Zuikaku, welcome back,” Akagi greeted her, watching with great amusement as the third Yamato-class ship desperately tried to make herself as small as possible.
“Hello, senpai,” Zuikaku offered a curt nod before glaring back at her target.
“Shinano, one request.
Warn me the next time the Commander decides to do something weird!” “One must not use the Gift for selfish purposes,” Shinano tried to defend herself.
“Oh, but whispering absolute nonsense into the sleeping Admiral’s ear is perfectly fine?!” the younger half of the Fifth Carrier Division began to boil over.
“Zuikaku, perhaps you should get some rest after your races,” Akagi laughed.
“My sister and I literally saw her whispering something to the sleeping Admiral!” Zuikaku poked an accusatory finger directly into Shinano’s chest.
“Hmm…” Akagi looked between the overly agitated crane and Shinano—who was currently trying to merge into the wall to escape Zuikaku, despite being a full head taller than her.
The flagship of the First Carrier Division grabbed the silver-haired Kansen and spun her around to face her.
“Do tell me…
what kind of ‘whispering’ is my kouhai talking about…” *** [Kanmusu World] “Mikhail Alexandrovich, couldn’t we find a better place for a briefing?” Ulyanovsk asked, looking down over the railing.
The starboard bridge wing offered a magnificent view of Murmansk, slowly being swallowed by the evening twilight.
However, the aviation cruiser wasn’t interested in the city’s sparkling nightlights or their reflection in the surprisingly calm waters of the Kola Bay.
He was staring at the ship’s deck right beneath the bridge gallery.
There, nestled against the forward superstructure and stretching along the hull, sat roughly four hundred launch tubes belonging to a Multiple Launch Rocket System.
A caliber no less than three hundred millimeters.
An identical battery of launch tubes sat on the port side, leaving the guy in a state of mild bewilderment.
“What can you do,” Admiral Mikheev shrugged, lighting a cigarette.
“We don’t exactly have any other aircraft carriers lying around.
And since we have an opportunity to test the targeting systems for the anti-air defense grid—why not use it?
Can’t just shoot at drones all day.” “That part I get,” Ulyanovsk let his eyes wander over the starboard artillery again.
“It’s just…
weird seeing a ship they used to call an ‘Aircraft Carrier Killer’ without its main battery.” “Ah…” the admiral followed the aviation cruiser’s gaze.
“You mean the ‘Solnyshko’.” “What?” “A direct descendant of the ‘Solntsepyok’ heavy flamethrower system.
Back in the day, it rolled an entire Polish brigade into a thin, well-done crispy crust across a field.
Turns out, thermobaric payloads are shockingly effective against the Abyssals.
So, the last of the Atlant-class cruisers got a main battery swap.” “Them too,” the guy nodded toward the two colossal silhouettes anchored further north.
“Not on Pyotr.
When the first wave hit, he had just been pulled out of drydock for sea trials, so he’s currently acting as a massive floating anti-air battery.
Nakhimov got his VLS cells, though, so our two beauties operate as a pair,” the admiral took a drag of his cigarette.
“We’ll be testing Pyotr today, alongside Captain Petrov’s ward right here,” he patted the bridge railing.
“I honestly don’t know whether to be jealous or not,” Ulyanovsk sighed, glancing at the third nuclear-powered cruiser in the lineup.
“Of what?” the admiral asked.
“Those universal VLS cells.
A vertical launch has to be miles easier than spooling up a Granit.” “The crew never complained about them,” Mikheev reminded him.
“Those were humans.
Try mixing herring and yeast in a glass of milk, then chug it.
Firing a Granit feels pretty close to that, even if you get used to it quickly,” Ulyanovsk grimaced.
“Interesting analogy for a ‘wet launch’,” the admiral drawled.
“Better tell me what exactly you need from me.” “Launch an aircraft and run flight patterns in Grid K-4.
Afterward, we’ll cross-reference your telemetry with the data captured by the AA crews on Ustinov and Pyotr.” “K-4,” the aviation cruiser repeated, scanning the bay’s waters until he pinpointed the designated zone.
“That’s right next to the city.
There’s about a dozen civilian drones flying around there.” “Exactly,” Mikheev chuckled.
“Start with a simple ‘Sukhoi’, then follow up with a pair of ‘Alligator’ choppers.” Eyeing the radar arrays of the nuclear missile cruisers in the distance, Ulyanovsk pulled a small deck of plastic cards from inside his jacket.
“The Su-33, or do we want to play hardball?” “When you spot something resembling a 1970s-era ship out in the ocean—or something even older—then we’ll practice with the stealth jets.
For now, I highly doubt our current systems can paint a 5th-generation fighter launched by a Kanmusu.
Although,” the admiral paused in thought, “thanks for the reminder.
Need to adjust the technical specs for the eggheads.” “You really love giving them a headache,” the guy smirked.
With a flick of his wrist, he sent a plastic card sailing into the air toward the ship’s smokestacks.
Mid-flight, a small cloud of light enveloped the card, transforming it into a miniaturized replica of an Su-33 fighter.
Hugging the radar superstructure to mask its signature in the cruiser’s shadow, the jet dropped to the deck, skimmed the water at ultra-low altitude, and bolted toward the designated exercise grid.
“Attention all hands, target is airborne!” the admiral barked into the bridge comms, signaling the start of the drill.
While the cruiser’s duty shift ran around in a frantic, sweaty panic executing their orders, Ulyanovsk pondered the harsh fate of the ship currently hosting him.
He mentally adjusted the flight path of his overly playful fairy pilot.
Being transformed from an ‘Aircraft Carrier Killer’ into a glorified coastal battery—he wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone.
Even if it was vastly better than what had happened to his five sister ships.
‘Two canceled before completion, two devoured right in their ports, and the fifth, rotting at the mooring wall, was finished off by the same pack.
Makes you wonder if the Soviet Union was cursed when it came to capital ships.
If it wasn’t a war getting in the way, it was deep-sea monsters,’ the aviation cruiser thought, looking over the Slava-class vessel.
Perhaps, if his fate had played out differently, one of these cruisers would have been part of his escort group.
Maybe even flanked by one of the nuclear giants anchored to the north.
But if given the choice right now, the guy would prefer a pair of Fregat-class destroyers for his squadron, or at worst, a duo of Sarych-class destroyers.
Giving up the raw strike power capable of shredding an enemy squadron into scrap metal before they even reached visual range was stupid, but the aviation cruiser was perfectly capable of handling that job himself.
However, having ships capable of screening his floating airfield against air and submarine threats seemed like a literal panacea.
Destroying a massive pack using only a single carrier’s air group required intense micromanagement—and getting entirely distracted by air traffic control while in open waters was suicide.
But even a single allied ASW ship would allow him to put vastly more strike aircraft into the sky.
“Ah, dreams, dreams,” the guy shook his head.
A sharp crack of a breaking sound barrier echoed from the direction of the city embankment.
A second later, his pilot reported that an overly curious quadcopter had successfully splashed down into the freezing night waters.
“Don’t get carried away,” the admiral warned.
“My bad,” Ulyanovsk scoffed.
“But as they say, curiosity killed the cat…” “Explain.” “Some amateur trying to film scenic landscapes decided he’d stumbled upon a rogue RC plane enthusiast.” “Congratulations,” Mikheev rolled his eyes.
“You just trashed a Coastal Defense recon drone.” “I know, but they were starting to get cocky.” “The Coast Guard is going to chew my ear off with their whining,” the admiral massaged his temples.
“I hope you didn’t actually shoot it down?” “No,” Ulyanovsk shook his head.
“Just shook it out of the sky by going supersonic right over its rotors.
It landed well, actually.
Should fly again.” “That’s slightly better,” the man sighed.
“Any updates on that brilliant idea our ‘partners’ cooked up?” “Surprisingly, not much,” the officer crushed his cigarette in an ashtray.
“Right now, the ivory-tower Brass,” he pointed a finger upward, “are arguing about how and from which angle to approach it.
Our people are staying quiet for now, but the preliminary force dispositions have already been leaked.” “What do they want from us?” “Five destroyer divisions, one battleship division, and their escorts,” Mikheev answered, following it up with a harsh string of curses.
“So, basically everything not actively tied down in patrols?
Destroyers—fine, I can understand that, same with the cruisers.
But why do they need our old ladies?” “Command is fighting it.
They aren’t exactly thrilled to send our battleships out either.
But the shining knights at Combined Fleet HQ are demanding at least one of the Yamato sisters from the Japanese, with all the inevitable fallout.
The Americans are deploying almost the entirety of Task Force 58, but given the sheer size of their detachment, they’ll sail in a separate formation.
Our forces will either attach to the Japanese or merge with the European contingent.” “And they want to send this entire armada to the Philippines?
It’s going to be a slaughterhouse,” Ulyanovsk warned.
“It will be a bloodbath regardless.
You can’t move a crowd that size stealthily, and the enemy is far from stupid.” “If only that were the only issue…” the aviation cruiser muttered.
The metal railing groaned painfully under his tightening grip.
“The Himes ruling that territory are…
special,” he said, recalling the intel dumped on him by a certain overly talkative Abyssal submarine.
“Special in what way?” the admiral tensed.
“According to unverified intel, the personal Royal Guard of that sector includes twelve Re-class battleships.” Ulyanovsk was in complete solidarity with the profanity that subsequently erupted from the commander’s mouth.
The archipelago selected as the Combined Fleet’s target might technically reside in the domain of the Super-Hime that he regularly fed Pacific convoys to, but it was also one of the Abyssal Fleet’s primary nesting grounds in the North Pacific.
Assuming a term like ‘nesting ground’ even applied to spawns of the abyss.
And just south of there lay the territory of another monster who could easily come to her aid.
Despite the absolute logistical nightmare it would entail, Ulyanovsk honestly thought launching an operation against Hawaii looked vastly easier than hitting the Philippines.
“You realize you’re the one who’s going to have to verify this, right?” Admiral Mikheev asked a rhetorical question.
“Didn’t expect anything else,” the aviation cruiser shrugged, looking intently at the officer.
“But I doubt this ends with just recon.” “You’re right,” the admiral confirmed his fears.
“You’re going to shadow the combined fleet that our squadron gets attached to.” “I won’t be able to sink them all quickly,” Ulyanovsk immediately set the boundaries.
“I’ll be spotted.” “No one is asking you to.
Though, the option of striking the American detachment is still on the table as a contingency to sabotage the operation.
Your primary objective is to make our girls’ job easier.” “You guys are sending the wrong ship for black ops,” the aviation cruiser smirked.
“That’s a job for those guys,” he nodded toward the nuclear missile cruisers.
“If we had an Orlan-class active, you’d know about it,” Mikheev pulled out another cigarette.
“Since we don’t, it falls on you.” Looking toward the city, he added: “Keep flying for another ten minutes, then we’ll stop torturing the poor bastards on duty.” “I can summon a MiG for the grand finale,” Ulyanovsk offered.
“Don’t bother.
Too small, and it’ll get lost in the dark too fast.” Smirking, the aviation cruiser raised the fighter’s altitude to the standard approach vector used by Abyssal bombers.
Then, he began simulating attack runs on one of the navigational buoys bobbing in the bay.
Meanwhile, Ulyanovsk pondered the upcoming deployment.
Intelligence had pulled out that new tactical tabletop game for the Kanmusu at exactly the right time.
The enthusiastic cheers he had heard from the destroyers in the mess hall during his last day in Gadzhiyevo were full of a strange, reckless excitement and a thirst for revenge.
That meant Intel knew about their ‘partners” plans well in advance.
However, the question of exactly who decided to send entire fleets to the slaughter was still hanging in the air.
The guy sincerely hoped the upper echelons of the Combined Fleet weren’t complete idiots.
Because even if you blindly believed the theory that Abyssals had zero intelligence, attacking one of their primary nests was insanely risky.
And that didn’t even factor in the thick blanket of purple fog permanently hanging over the archipelago, which completely neutralized any satellite surveillance.
Kanmusu couldn’t operate under that fog for long, and the fighting there would be brutal and drawn-out.
Ulyanovsk had no doubts about that.
“The Japanese aren’t going to just hand over Yamato or Musashi to be slaughtered,” the guy noted.
“You think they have a choice when the Americans are sending Wisconsin and Missouri?” the admiral’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“They threw a stick, and the Japanese chased it.
Oh, and they appointed Enterprise as the flagship of the carrier strike group.
But interestingly enough, they left Lexington back at base, even though she has vastly more experience commanding large formations.
Not to mention she outclasses her overhyped sister as a combat unit.” “Are the Germans sending Bismarck too?” “Old Blighty is taking the brunt of the European commitment.
Alongside the Italians.” “So, they’re sending all the slowpokes?
Leaving the faster battleships at home is a highly logical move; at least someone still has a functioning brain.
The only question is—how did we end up invited to this summit of naval superpowers?” “We just happen to be located near the venue,” the admiral chuckled.
“Brilliant answer, considering the geography,” Ulyanovsk appreciated the joke.
“When do I ship out?” “You fly home tomorrow.
A care package with some new toys is waiting for you there.
You have a maximum of one week for field testing, then you deploy.
Do not play hero; your mission is strictly reconnaissance.” “Understood.
What kind of new toys?” “You’ll see,” Mikheev smirked.
“You’ll also get to meet your new commanding officer.” “Where did you put Volkov?” the aviation cruiser asked, genuinely surprised.
“And how did you even manage to oust him?” “Admiral Volkov, as it turned out, was very careless with his biological functions and activities,” the officer replied, his smirk widening.
“And yes, land the flyboy and launch the chopper.” “I thought you said you were done torturing them?” “You won’t take long…” *** Two hours later, after seeing his ward off to the shore, Admiral Mikheev settled into the captain’s cabin assigned to him, awaiting the preliminary after-action reports from the ships.
He didn’t expect any massive breakthroughs; the Combat Information Center officers and attached specialists from the design bureaus needed time to meticulously dissect the telemetry provided by the domestic defense industry’s latest brainchild.
Only after that data landed on Command’s desk would the distribution of highly motivating orders begin.
Right now, he was far more interested in the small container that had spent the entire exercise securely tucked inside the inner pocket of his tunic.
Now, it sat on the desk, its polished metal gleaming under the cabin lights.
It was the entire reason they had organized the highly classified aviation cruiser’s visit to the missile cruiser in the first place.
The test of the new defense systems could have easily happened earlier, especially since the star of the show had recovered from his reactor refueling surprisingly fast.
But it had been delayed until a special courier delivered this exact lockbox, made of an ultra-durable alloy and topped with tinted glass.
“Admiral, sir,” a knock sounded at the door.
“Permission to enter?” “Come in,” Mikheev shook his head, tearing his eyes away from the hypnotic matte black glass.
“You have a call on Channel Zero,” the duty officer from the Communications Department reported, handing the admiral a satellite phone.
“Perfect timing,” the man sighed, taking the receiver.
The officer offered a silent salute, stepped out of the cabin, and closed the door behind him.
“Admiral Mikheev speaking,” he reported crisply into the phone.
He immediately winced upon hearing the question from the other end.
He perfectly understood his superiors’ intense interest; in light of recent events within the Combined Fleet, massive hopes were pinned on today’s experiment.
Hence the rush—something Mikheev deeply despised.
“Zero reaction.
Not even a hint.
Either they misidentified the classification, or they failed to specify the target accurately enough…
Tell them to run it again, a reaction to a group of ships isn’t grounds to immediately demand activation…
Most likely, the presence effect failed to trigger; there were no familial or other bonds present…
It’s possible they just aren’t strong enough, but we don’t have any other options, they’ve all been eaten…
Acknowledged, I will seal it and hand it over to the courier.
Out,” Mikheev ended the call, shooting a deeply dissatisfied glare at the lockbox on the desk.
“And they won’t even tell me what exactly you reacted to.
But they made me carry you right past the cruisers anyway…” *** “Finish me!” Gathering the absolute last dregs of her strength, the soul sent a desperate call to her sister standing far away.
It was the explosions of the occupiers’ shattered fortifications that had finally roused her from her long slumber.
Far out at sea, her older sister, acting like a fiercely protective mother hen, was watching over her brood of little ones as they gleefully reduced everything on the coastline that could shoot back into a pile of mud.
Her sister heard the call.
She sent back a wave of shock, desperately trying to encourage her.
She promised to pull her out, to save her.
But the soul had suffered for far too long.
She was utterly exhausted.
“Spare me from this disgrace!” she begged.
Understanding and deep sorrow echoed back.
A brief flash of light, and a predatory gaze that completely eclipsed the panic rising on the horizon.
When the steel spear slammed into her body, the soul rejoiced for the very first time in her existence.
Completely ignoring the agonizing pain of her body being ripped to pieces, she eagerly awaited her long-sought peace.
There would be no more false promises of letting her return to her family—promises that only ever ended with her body being chained down by even more shackles.
Ahead, a reunion awaited her.
A reunion with those who were never destined to be born.
And they would be waiting.
Waiting for the others to return.
And preferably, that wait would last as long as possible.
Then, she and the other unborn would be told many more fascinating stories—stories from those who had actually tasted the salty sea spray and felt the furious wrath of the ocean waves.
But the moment her consciousness slipped away from the mangled wreck, she was stunned to find herself being pulled somewhere else.
Her body responded again, but it felt…
different.
Instead of rotting, rust-eaten flesh, she felt strong, taut muscles.
The limbs that had been amputated long ago returned to her.
And, still refusing to believe her own senses, she saw light.
Not a dim, hazy smudge like before, but a bright, warm light.
Her lungs drew their first breath all on their own, triggering an absolute storm of unfamiliar sensations in her mind.
“So this is what it means…” a voice, hoarse from lack of use, echoed in the air.
“…to be born anew…” Cautiously, her eyelids fluttered open, allowing a pair of bright blue eyes to behold the world.
For the very first time, entirely without anyone else’s help.