A View Through Green Glass
The first aircraft exploded directly ahead of her.
For one blinding instant, the sky became white.
Then orange.
Then black.
Fragments of metal scattered through the air, tumbling end over end against the impossible blue of the Pacific afternoon. A burning wing spun across the gunsight, followed by something that might once have been an engine cowling.
The little pilot flinched.
Her hands tightened around the control column.
And the entire cockpit shook as her fighter tore through the outer edge of the expanding smoke cloud.
“Red Three! Break right! Break right!”
She didn't need to be told twice.
The A6M5 Ko Reisen rolled hard.
Blue sky spun across the canopy.
The horizon tilted.
For a moment, the Pacific Ocean filled the entire right side of the cockpit, glittering far below through the green-painted framework and curved glass.
Then the fighter leveled out.
The pilot sucked in a sharp breath.
She was alive.
Her aircraft was still flying.
And somebody was trying very hard to change both of those facts.
A stream of brilliant green projectiles passed just above the canopy.
She ducked instinctively.
“Red Three, answer!”
The radio crackled.
The fairy pilot swallowed.
“Red Three! I'm here!”
“Report!”
She glanced toward the left wing.
No flames.
No visible leaks.
The control surfaces still responded.
“Aircraft intact! That was close!”
“Then stop admiring the explosions and get back into formation!”
The pilot almost laughed.
Almost.
Instead, she pushed the throttle forward.
The radial engine roared.
And the Zero accelerated into the burning sky.
Her name was Mio.
She was an aviation fairy.
A living person.
A pilot.
And, at this particular moment, a very small woman experiencing a very large amount of fear inside a perfectly ordinary full-sized fighter aircraft.
The A6M5 Ko Reisen around her was not a toy.
Not an illusion.
Not a disposable projection.
It was an operational carrier fighter, constructed and maintained through the physical aviation equipment of its Keelborn carrier.
Its engine consumed real fuel.
Its cannons fired real ammunition.
Its wings could be torn apart by hostile fire.
And if it struck the ocean at combat speed, no convenient interface would appear to announce that Mio could try again.
She knew this.
Every pilot in the formation knew it.
They'd known it before the Crisis.
Or at least they'd understood the mechanics of danger.
What the last several weeks had taught them was its permanence.
Mio glanced toward the tiny photograph secured beneath her gunsight.
Two fairies smiled back at her from a worn little picture.
One was Mio herself.
The other was a deck mechanic from her home carrier.
The photograph had been taken before the latest series of air raids.
Before three of their aircraft had returned so badly damaged that the maintenance teams had nearly wept at the sight.
Before the aircrew casualty board had begun acquiring names.
Mio touched the edge of the photograph with one gloved fingertip.
Then returned her hand to the throttle.
There was no time to think about it.
Above her, two friendly Reisen fighters broke through a patch of smoke.
Below them, a Blackwake bomber formation continued toward the island.
She could see the enemy aircraft clearly now.
They were wrong.
That was the only word she could find for them.
Their general outlines resembled military aircraft, with wings, engines, control surfaces, and weapon mounts arranged in shapes that sometimes seemed almost familiar.
But the closer one looked, the worse they became.
Some carried swollen structures along their fuselages that did not resemble any ordinary fuel tank or bomb bay.
Others trailed thin strands of dark material that writhed in the slipstream.
Green lights glowed beneath cracked canopy panels.
One bomber had an entire section of its outer wing replaced by an irregular black mass that pulsed faintly as the aircraft maneuvered.
Mio had learned not to stare at those things.
Staring wasted time.
And the Blackwake were extremely good at punishing hesitation.
“Red Flight, this is Lead! Bombers descending! Break up the attack!”
Mio checked her gunsight.
A circular reticle glowed against the sky.
The bomber formation was moving toward the island's eastern harbor entrance.
Beyond it, the shoreline curved around a broad sheltered anchorage crowded with piers, fuel storage tanks, covered warehouses, and cargo-handling equipment.
The infrastructure was painted in practical military colors.
Not beautiful.
Not elegant.
But absolutely vital.
Mio knew what was inside those buildings.
Food.
Medical supplies.
Electrical equipment.
Machinery.
Replacement aircraft parts.
Ammunition.
Fuel.
Everything that allowed distant bases and ships to keep operating.
Everything that people like her carrier depended upon whenever they returned damaged and exhausted.
Everything that would disappear beneath flames and seawater if the bombers got through.
She lowered her head behind the reflector sight.
The leading Blackwake bomber grew larger.
Its wings trembled in the turbulent air.
A dark shape moved beneath its fuselage.
Bomb-bay doors.
No.
Mio adjusted her aim.
Not today.
Her thumb tightened.
The wing-mounted twenty-millimeter cannons opened fire.
The Zero shuddered.
Bright tracers streaked forward.
Several passed beneath the bomber.
One struck near the left engine.
Another tore through the wing root.
The enemy aircraft lurched.
Black fluid sprayed from its damaged structure.
For a moment, it continued flying.
Then something inside it ignited.
A brilliant green flash erupted beneath the fuselage.
The left wing twisted upward.
Mio pulled hard away as the bomber began coming apart.
“Red Three! Splash confirmed!”
She glanced over her shoulder.
The burning wreckage was falling toward the sea.
She didn't cheer.
There were too many others.
“Red Three returning!”
She rolled into another turn.
And the sky filled with gunfire once more.
Far below, the island of Halcyon Roads lay beneath the aircraft battle.
It was not a frontline fortress.
At least, not according to the Admiralty Union's strategic maps.
It was a supply hub.
One of roughly eleven major Pacific distribution centers responsible for keeping the Union's scattered naval installations supplied across an ocean so vast that even the fastest ships could spend days traveling between important positions.
The anchorage sat within a broken ring of low islands and reefs, where deeper shipping channels had been surveyed and marked over decades of commercial and naval use.
There were several warehouse districts.
Two substantial fuel-storage facilities.
A naval aviation servicing area.
Repair slips.
Cargo piers.
A civilian settlement.
And a communications installation that coordinated everything from ammunition manifests to emergency medical shipments.
The harbor's broad approaches allowed multiple convoys to assemble before distributing supplies farther across the Pacific.
That made Halcyon Roads valuable.
It also made the anchorage a target.
The Blackwake had understood this for years.
They had never needed to seize every naval base.
They only needed to make the supply system unreliable.
Destroy enough fuel.
Sink enough cargo ships.
Damage enough repair equipment.
Kill enough experienced technicians.
Eventually, even the strongest fleet would discover that bravery could not replace missing ammunition.
For the past several weeks, Halcyon Roads had been learning that lesson repeatedly.
The enemy had attacked in small groups.
Then larger ones.
Sometimes at dawn.
Sometimes under cloud cover.
Sometimes just before the evening watch changed.
There had been nights when the warning sirens sounded twice before anyone finished cleaning up the damage from the first raid.
There had been mornings when the station's antiaircraft crews were still eating breakfast at their guns.
The base was not on the recognized front line.
But it was close enough that air raids had begun to feel like weather.
A particularly hateful sort of weather.
And today, the skies had turned violent again.
The Kaga-Class Girl
Reina had been awake for twenty-three hours.
She was becoming increasingly irritated by that fact.
Not because she particularly disliked being awake.
She disliked being awake while people were attempting to bomb her.
There was an important distinction.
She stood upon the surface of the outer anchorage, her Kaga-class carrier equipment deployed around her in an arrangement of steel structures, aviation machinery, flight-deck assemblies, and supporting naval systems.
Her rigging was not decorative.
Every component had weight.
Every section required maintenance.
Every aircraft launch consumed resources that someone would eventually have to replace.
The carrier's flight-deck machinery extended behind her, its physical equipment busy with the final movements of preparing another defensive section.
Tiny fairy deck crews rushed between aircraft stations, handling fuel lines, ammunition equipment, securing cables, and maintenance tools.
They were efficient.
Disciplined.
And very tired.
Reina knew because she could see it in the way they moved.
A small delay before a response.
A mechanic rubbing her eyes beneath her goggles.
A crew chief checking the same securing latch twice because she no longer trusted her own memory.
They needed rest.
All of them.
Unfortunately, the Blackwake had not been especially accommodating.
Reina pressed two fingers against the side of her communications headset.
“Red Flight, report your position.”
Static crackled.
Then—
“Red Lead. East-northeast of the harbor. Enemy bombers breaking formation. Four still heading toward the fuel district.”
Reina looked toward the island.
Beyond the low buildings, columns of antiaircraft smoke rose into the sky.
A warning siren continued howling.
The carrier girl's jaw tightened.
“Intercept those four. Don't pursue anything fleeing beyond the outer patrol limit.”
“Understood!”
Reina lowered her hand.
A second voice sounded from the fleet circuit.
“Reina, your starboard fighter section is running low on ammunition.”
She turned.
A girl was approaching across the water.
She carried the heavy physical rigging of a Nagato-class battleship, its armored structures and massive main-battery components moving with controlled mechanical precision as she advanced.
Her name was Shizuku.
She was tall, composed, and possessed the deeply unfortunate habit of remaining calm whenever everybody around her was losing patience.
Reina had occasionally considered this infuriating.
Today, she found it reassuring.
“I know,” Reina answered.
Shizuku glanced toward the burning sky.
“How many are still airborne?”
“Enough to give me a headache.”
“That isn't a number.”
“It's the number you're getting.”
The battleship girl sighed.
For a moment, she studied her friend.
Reina was twenty-nine.
An older former player by the standards of Horizon's younger training contingent, though she had never personally met that group.
Before Hour Zero, she had possessed an ordinary life on the original Earth.
An apartment.
A job.
Friends.
Bills.
A collection of games she played to relax after difficult days.
FRONTLINE HEARTS had been one of those games.
She'd selected a coveted Kaga-class carrier character because she liked aviation, admired the design, and had been fortunate enough to obtain one of the more sought-after naval roles.
It had seemed like a wonderful choice.
Powerful.
Prestigious.
Fun.
Now, standing in the water beneath a sky filled with hostile aircraft, Reina occasionally wondered whether she'd developed an unusually sophisticated form of self-punishment.
Her real body was still hers.
Her age was still twenty-nine.
And every exhausting day since the Crisis had been real.
A carrier's reputation had not made the work easier.
It had only meant everyone expected more of her.
Shizuku regarded her for a moment.
Then spoke quietly.
“You need sleep.”
Reina raised an eyebrow.
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
“How fascinating.”
“Reina.”
“Shizuku.”
The Nagato-class girl folded her arms.
“I mean it.”
Reina looked toward the island.
Another antiaircraft burst flowered above the outer harbor.
She sighed.
“I know.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Shizuku glanced toward the flight deck.
“Let Chiyo take the next rotation.”
Reina's expression softened slightly.
“Hōshō's already doing enough.”
“She's the one who offered.”
Reina looked toward the smaller carrier waiting farther inside the defensive formation.
The Hōshō-class girl, Chiyo, stood beside her own compact aviation rigging with a group of fairy crews moving efficiently around the launch equipment.
Compared with Reina's much larger carrier systems, Hōshō's machinery looked almost delicate.
It wasn't.
The older carrier design remained capable of valuable flight operations.
But it had less room.
Fewer aircraft.
Less margin for operational mistakes.
And Chiyo had spent the past month squeezing every possible hour of usefulness from equipment that had never been intended to sustain the sort of relentless fighting Halcyon Roads was experiencing.
Reina considered that.
Then nodded slowly.
“Fine. Tell her I appreciate it.”
Shizuku smiled faintly.
“She already knows.”
“Good.”
Reina looked toward the eastern sky.
Then sighed.
“Now can somebody please make those miserable things go away?”
A short distance beyond the carriers stood the rest of Halcyon Roads' principal Keelborn defense force.
Mitsuki, a Fusō-class battleship girl, was overseeing the southern antiaircraft sectors.
Her rigging was older in arrangement than Shizuku's, with the distinctive concentration of heavy turrets and towering superstructure elements that made the original battleship design so recognizable.
Today, however, Mitsuki's main guns were not the important weapons.
Her antiaircraft batteries were.
They had been firing almost continuously for the previous twenty minutes.
Empty cartridge cases and spent ammunition containers were accumulating around the designated servicing positions.
Several minor pieces of equipment had already overheated.
Mitsuki watched the sky with narrowed eyes.
“Southern sector, hold fire! Friendly aircraft crossing!”
A pair of Reisen fighters streaked overhead.
A moment later, the Blackwake aircraft pursuing them appeared.
Mitsuki waited.
A heartbeat.
Then—
“Fire!”
Her antiaircraft batteries thundered.
The air filled with tracer fire.
One enemy aircraft broke away.
Another rolled too late and disappeared into a burst of fragmentation.
Mitsuki exhaled.
Then looked toward the servicing team.
“How much ammunition?”
A technician answered from the shore station.
“Enough for another sustained engagement, but we'd like to stop spending it at this rate!”
Mitsuki stared toward the sky.
“Tell the enemy.”
The technician laughed.
Not because it was particularly funny.
Because people sometimes needed to laugh at something when they were exhausted.
Farther out, Maki held the western defensive position.
The Mogami-class girl wore the equipment of an aviation cruiser—a CAV configuration that combined gun systems with aft aviation facilities for reconnaissance and seaplane operations.
The arrangement was awkward compared with a purpose-built carrier.
It was useful nonetheless.
Her floatplane crews had spent the previous month conducting reconnaissance along the shipping approaches, locating suspicious contacts, checking routes for damaged vessels, and providing warning whenever Blackwake formations appeared beyond the coastal radar coverage.
Maki had grown rather fond of them.
She had also grown fond of complaining.
Currently, she was complaining about the heat.
“I'm melting.”
A voice answered from the radio.
“You're standing in the ocean.”
Maki frowned.
“Thank you, Mitsuki.”
“You're welcome.”
“That's not helping.”
“Would you prefer to stand on the island?”
Maki considered that.
Then looked toward the burning sky.
A column of black smoke drifted above the eastern reefs.
Another enemy aircraft fell toward the water.
She sighed.
“No.”
A pause.
Then—
“I'd prefer a day when nobody fires at us.”
The radio remained quiet for a moment.
Then Mitsuki answered.
“Wouldn't we all.”
Maki looked toward the western approaches.
The water was remarkably calm.
Small waves moved through the channel, catching the sunlight.
Farther away, a patrol boat was returning toward the inner anchorage.
Several cargo ships remained secured at their assigned berths, awaiting clearance to resume unloading after the air raid.
Everything looked ordinary.
Almost peaceful.
Maki didn't trust peaceful anymore.
But she couldn't spend every waking moment expecting something terrible to happen.
Not if she wanted to remain sane.
She adjusted her headset.
Then looked toward the aircraft formation fighting above the eastern coast.
“Come on, Reina.”
Her voice softened.
“Finish it.”
And for a little while, it seemed as though Reina would.
The Last Bomber
Mio had six cannon rounds left in her right wing's ammunition feed.
She knew that because the counter had finally reached a number small enough to frighten her more than the enemy aircraft.
Six.
A ridiculous number.
Six rounds, a damaged radio aerial, and a fuel gauge that had been creeping toward empty for the previous ten minutes.
She'd already fired most of her ammunition at three bombers and one extremely unpleasant fighter that seemed capable of turning more sharply than anything with that much damaged wing surface had any right to manage.
The fighter had disappeared into a cloud bank trailing smoke.
She didn't know whether it had crashed.
She hoped so.
She was trying not to think about it.
“Red Three, status!”
Mio glanced toward the gauges.
“Fuel low! Cannon nearly empty!”
“Return to carrier!”
She looked ahead.
Beyond the gunsight, the surviving Blackwake bombers had broken formation.
Three were turning toward the open ocean.
One continued toward the island.
It was flying low.
Dangerously low.
Almost skimming the sea.
A long dark object hung beneath its fuselage.
Mio's eyes widened.
The bomber wasn't heading toward the fuel tanks anymore.
It was approaching the harbor's inner channel.
Toward the cargo ships.
“Red Lead! One bomber still inbound!”
“We see it! Red Three, return!”
Mio looked toward her fuel gauge.
Then toward the distant bomber.
She could see the harbor beyond it.
Several cargo ships were trying to reposition beneath the protection of the coastal batteries.
One transport lay alongside a loading pier with its cargo hatches open.
Men were running along the quay.
A pair of small escort vessels were turning toward the threat.
The bomber continued descending.
Mio swallowed.
Six rounds.
Perhaps less if the counter was inaccurate.
She lowered her head behind the sight.
“Red Three, return immediately!”
Her hands tightened.
“I have one pass!”
“Mio—”
She pushed the throttle forward.
The Zero roared.
The airframe trembled as she descended.
The enemy bomber grew rapidly larger.
Its lower fuselage was damaged, but its wings remained intact.
Something moved behind the dark canopy.
A green glow.
A shape that looked almost like a face.
Mio refused to examine it.
She watched the bomber's motion.
Its speed.
Its angle.
The distance to the harbor entrance.
Then she shifted slightly above its flight path.
For a moment, the aircraft lined up.
The gunsight settled.
Mio squeezed the trigger.
The cannons fired.
One short burst.
The fighter shuddered.
Tracers streaked toward the bomber.
And the last of her useful ammunition struck the enemy's right engine.
The result was immediate.
A violent orange flash.
A spray of dark fragments.
The engine tore loose.
The bomber lurched.
Its right wing dropped.
Mio pulled sharply upward as the damaged aircraft began falling toward the water.
For a moment, its fuselage continued forward.
Then it struck the sea outside the harbor entrance.
A column of spray erupted.
The dark object beneath it vanished into the explosion.
Mio rolled away.
Her chest hurt.
She realized she'd been holding her breath.
Then the radio crackled.
“Red Three! Confirm target destroyed!”
She stared toward the falling spray.
For several seconds, she could barely speak.
Finally—
“Target destroyed.”
A pause.
Then, quieter:
“I'm coming home.”
The return flight felt longer than the battle.
Mio's arms ached.
Her legs felt strangely weak.
The adrenaline that had carried her through the fighting was beginning to fade, leaving behind something cold and unpleasant.
She checked the fuel gauge again.
Still enough.
Barely.
The ocean stretched beneath the wings.
Smoke rose from several burning wrecks.
One friendly fighter flew off her left wing, its pilot carefully matching her speed.
Mio recognized the markings.
Red Lead.
Her flight leader.
The older fairy glanced across the distance between their aircraft.
Then gave a thumbs-up.
Mio returned it.
For a moment, she felt a ridiculous urge to cry.
She didn't.
She kept flying.
Ahead, Reina's Kaga-class carrier equipment came into view, its aviation systems prepared to receive the returning flight.
The pilot checked her approach.
Reduced speed.
Aligned herself with the recovery path.
The familiar flight-deck markings grew larger.
She lowered her landing gear.
Adjusted the throttle.
And, with a final trembling breath, committed to the landing.
The wheels touched.
A brief jolt ran through the aircraft.
The recovery equipment caught her.
The Zero slowed.
And as the carrier's aviation systems accepted the aircraft back into the stowage transition, its dimensions reduced to the scale appropriate for the Keelborn's onboard handling facilities.
The fighter settled into the recovery area.
Its engine finally fell silent.
Mio remained in the cockpit.
For several seconds, she couldn't move.
Then a familiar voice sounded beside her.
“Mio?”
She turned.
A deck mechanic stood beside the aircraft.
Goggles raised.
Hands resting on her hips.
It was the same fairy from the little photograph beneath the gunsight.
Her friend.
Her sister in everything except blood.
The mechanic regarded the aircraft.
Then Mio.
Her expression changed.
“You're shaking.”
Mio looked down.
She was.
Her hands trembled against the control column.
She tried to stop them.
Couldn't.
For a moment, she seemed terribly embarrassed.
Then the mechanic climbed onto the servicing step and reached into the cockpit.
“Come on.”
Mio swallowed.
“I got the bomber.”
“I heard.”
“It was going to hit the harbor.”
“I know.”
“I only had six rounds.”
The mechanic's expression softened.
“Mio.”
The pilot looked toward her.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Mio whispered:
“I thought I wasn't going to come back.”
Her friend's face changed.
She reached forward.
And carefully took Mio's hand.
“But you did.”
The pilot swallowed.
Her eyes stung.
The mechanic squeezed her fingers.
“You came back.”
For several seconds, Mio couldn't answer.
Then she nodded.
Slowly.
“Yes.”
Her friend smiled.
“Good.”
She helped Mio unfasten her harness.
Then climbed down beside her as the exhausted pilot stepped onto the carrier's recovery platform.
Around them, fairy deck crews were already examining the damaged fighter.
Its engine was still warm.
One wing panel had been punctured.
The ammunition compartments were almost empty.
There would be repairs.
Inspections.
Fuel allocation.
More paperwork.
Possibly another sortie tomorrow.
But not right now.
The crew chief approached.
She looked toward Mio.
Then saluted.
“Well done.”
Mio returned the salute.
Her hand trembled.
The chief noticed.
She lowered her arm.
“Medical check first. Then food. Then rest.”
Mio opened her mouth.
The chief raised one finger.
“That is not a suggestion.”
Mio closed her mouth.
Then nodded.
“Yes, Chief.”
Nearby, Reina watched the recovery.
She had seen the last bomber fall.
Heard Mio's report.
And understood exactly how close the harbor had come to losing another cargo ship.
For a moment, the carrier girl looked toward the tiny pilot.
Then she smiled faintly.
Good work.
She didn't say it aloud.
Mio had already been given the only orders she needed.
Medical check.
Food.
Rest.
Reina intended to make certain the girl received all three.
The fighting finally ended at fourteen thirty-nine.
The surviving Blackwake aircraft withdrew eastward.
The last hostile contact disappeared beyond the patrol boundary.
The antiaircraft batteries ceased firing.
And, one by one, the terrible noises that had filled Halcyon Roads for nearly an hour began to fade.
The silence was almost startling.
For several seconds, Reina could hear nothing except the water moving against her equipment and the low hum of machinery being returned to standby.
Then the radio came alive.
“Harbor Control to all defensive units. Enemy air contacts withdrawing. Maintain readiness. Damage assessment commencing.”
Reina exhaled.
Her shoulders sagged.
She hadn't realized how tightly she'd been holding herself.
“Kaga group acknowledges.”
A second transmission followed.
“Hōshō group acknowledges. Recovering last fighter section.”
Reina glanced toward Chiyo.
The Hōshō-class girl raised one hand.
She looked exhausted.
But she was smiling.
Reina returned the gesture.
Then Mitsuki's voice sounded across the fleet circuit.
“Southern batteries reporting minor heat damage. No serious injuries.”
Shizuku answered next.
“Nagato group intact. Ammunition expenditure substantial.”
Reina closed her eyes.
Of course it was.
A moment later, Maki joined the conversation.
“Mogami group intact. No damage.”
Her voice brightened.
“And I would like it noted that I have personally survived another beautiful afternoon of being shot at.”
Mitsuki sighed.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Chiyo began laughing.
Reina smiled despite herself.
For a moment, the five girls simply listened to the quiet radio circuit.
Then Shizuku spoke.
“All right. Let's get everyone home.”
Reina nodded.
“Agreed.”
She looked toward the island.
The harbor was damaged.
A warehouse roof had caught fire.
One of the outer loading cranes had been struck by fragments.
Several dockworkers had been injured.
But the cargo piers remained operational.
The fuel tanks were intact.
The transports were still afloat.
Most of the defensive aircraft had returned.
They had won.
Not cleanly.
Not without cost.
But they'd won.
Again.
Reina looked toward the deck crews.
“Recover the remaining aircraft. Secure the equipment. Get the wounded to Medical.”
Her chief aviation fairy saluted.
“Yes, Reina.”
The carrier girl nodded.
Then looked toward the island once more.
For a moment, she allowed herself a small smile.
“Finally.”
The first casualty report arrived six minutes later.
One fairy pilot was missing.
Another had returned injured.
Two aircraft required major structural repairs.
Several had minor damage.
The missing pilot had last been seen pursuing a Blackwake fighter beyond a smoke bank.
Her wingman had searched as long as his remaining fuel permitted.
He hadn't found her.
Reina read the report.
The smile disappeared.
She looked toward the name.
A small name.
Written in ordinary ink.
Another person who might not be coming home.
For several seconds, she remained quiet.
Then she placed the paper on the table.
“Continue the search when it's safe.”
Her aviation officer nodded.
“We will.”
Reina looked toward the harbor.
The sea was calm again.
Beautiful.
Indifferent.
She hated that.
For a moment, she thought of the original Earth.
Of sitting at a desk after work, complaining about a difficult day while somebody on a computer screen announced that another virtual aircraft had been lost.
The loss had once meant repairs.
Resources.
A timer.
Possibly a frustrating evening.
Now it meant somebody with friends.
A voice.
A favorite meal.
A place in the mess.
A photograph.
A life.
Reina closed her eyes.
Then opened them.
“Please find her.”
The officer nodded.
“We'll try.”
It was all anyone could promise.
And it was not nearly enough.
A Quiet Minute
By fifteen hundred, Halcyon Roads had begun returning to its ordinary routine.
Such as it was.
Harbor tugs resumed their work.
Cargo-handling crews inspected the damaged loading equipment.
Medical personnel moved through the station.
The antiaircraft teams checked their guns and began accounting for expended ammunition.
Several technicians were dispatched to examine the radar arrays.
The harbor's civilian workers emerged from shelters.
Some carried tools.
Others carried water.
A few stood quietly outside damaged buildings, looking toward the smoke still rising from the eastern shore.
The base had survived another air raid.
It would need to survive the next one too.
Reina stood near an outer servicing station with a cup of tea.
She'd been promised the tea twenty minutes earlier.
It had finally arrived.
She looked down at it.
The cup was warm.
The liquid smelled wonderful.
For a moment, she considered the possibility that the universe might actually allow her to drink it.
Then Shizuku approached.
The Nagato-class girl had secured her main armament and was moving toward the carrier at an unhurried pace.
Reina raised the cup.
“Don't.”
Shizuku blinked.
“What?”
“Whatever you're about to ask me.”
The battleship girl tilted her head.
Reina continued.
“Unless somebody is actively sinking, on fire, or demanding surrender, I am drinking this tea.”
Shizuku considered that.
Then smiled.
“Fair.”
She stopped beside her.
For a while, they watched the harbor.
Smoke drifted slowly eastward.
A pair of tugs guided a damaged patrol vessel toward the repair slip.
Farther away, several cargo ships remained anchored, their decks crowded with supplies that still needed to be unloaded.
Shizuku folded her arms.
“How many more?”
Reina looked toward her.
“Air raids?”
“Yes.”
The carrier girl considered that.
Then took a sip of tea.
“I don't know.”
Shizuku nodded slowly.
“Neither do I.”
A pause.
Then Reina smiled faintly.
“That's reassuring.”
The battleship girl chuckled.
For a while, they stood quietly.
Then Shizuku looked toward the island.
“Another convoy arrives tomorrow.”
Reina sighed.
“Of course it does.”
“They need fuel, medical supplies, and new electrical equipment.”
“I know.”
“Some of the cargo is bound farther east.”
Reina glanced toward her.
“Farther east?”
Shizuku nodded.
“Several isolated stations. Some badly neglected.”
The carrier girl considered that.
Then looked toward the horizon.
She knew the type.
Tiny installations.
Incomplete defenses.
A handful of determined people trying to keep everything functioning long after the original budgets had disappeared.
The Pacific contained far too many of them.
Reina sighed.
“Make sure they get what they need.”
Shizuku smiled faintly.
“That was always the plan.”
A voice interrupted.
“Makes a change from being bombed, doesn't it?”
They turned.
Maki approached across the water.
The Mogami-class girl had secured most of her aviation equipment, leaving her reconnaissance facilities in a reduced operational configuration.
She looked tired.
But her expression was cheerful.
Reina raised an eyebrow.
“You survived.”
Maki grinned.
“Tragically.”
Shizuku smiled.
“How's your equipment?”
“Fine.”
“Your floatplane crews?”
“Recovering. One of them insists she can improve our reconnaissance routes with a different patrol schedule.”
Reina sighed.
“Of course she does.”
Maki nodded.
“I told her I'd consider it after she slept.”
Shizuku looked amused.
“A sensible decision.”
“I'm capable of those.”
Reina raised an eyebrow.
Maki stared.
“Occasionally.”
The carrier girl smiled.
For a moment, the three looked toward the harbor.
Then Mitsuki joined them from the southern sector.
Chiyo followed shortly afterward, having completed the recovery of her last airborne fighter.
All five were together.
For the first time since the air raid began.
The sight should have been reassuring.
And it was.
Reina looked around.
A Nagato-class battleship.
A Fusō-class battleship.
A Mogami-class aviation cruiser.
A Hōshō-class carrier.
And herself.
The Kaga-class girl.
Five experienced Keelborn.
Five warships in human form, burdened with machinery that could deliver tremendous destructive power and absorb punishment no ordinary person could survive.
They had fought together for weeks.
Approaching two months, depending on how one counted the days since the Crisis.
They knew one another's habits.
They knew who became quiet when frightened.
Who became sarcastic.
Who hid exhaustion beneath enthusiasm.
Who preferred tea.
Who forgot to eat.
Who pretended she didn't need help.
They were tired.
But they were together.
Reina looked toward them.
Then smiled.
“All right.”
Chiyo raised an eyebrow.
“All right?”
The Kaga-class girl nodded.
“I'm making a decision.”
Maki looked nervous.
“Is this going to involve work?”
“No.”
Mitsuki blinked.
“Really?”
Reina raised her cup.
“I'm declaring that we are all going to have a proper dinner tonight.”
Shizuku smiled.
Chiyo's expression brightened.
Maki raised both hands.
“Yes!”
Mitsuki considered that.
Then nodded.
“Assuming the mess has anything left.”
Reina smiled.
“I'll find something.”
Maki grinned.
“And afterward?”
The carrier girl considered that.
Then answered:
“Sleep.”
Shizuku nodded approvingly.
“Good.”
Reina took another sip of tea.
For the first time that afternoon, she felt almost peaceful.
Then Maki looked toward the western channel.
Her expression became puzzled.
“...Huh?”
Reina glanced toward her.
“What?”
The Mogami-class girl narrowed her eyes.
For a moment, she listened to something through her communications equipment.
Then she frowned.
“That's strange.”
Shizuku turned.
“What is?”
Maki looked toward the water.
Far beyond the outer channel markers, the sea appeared calm.
No hostile aircraft.
No surface silhouettes.
No obvious smoke.
Nothing.
She adjusted her headset.
“Western observation post just reported a disturbance.”
Reina's eyes narrowed.
“What kind?”
“Not sure.”
A pause.
Maki listened again.
Then looked toward the horizon.
“Apparently something moved through the outer channel without clearance.”
Chiyo frowned.
“A patrol boat?”
“Maybe.”
Mitsuki folded her arms.
“Harbor Control should know.”
Maki nodded.
“I'll ask.”
She reached toward her communications equipment.
Opened the channel.
And spoke.
“Mogami group to Western Observation. Confirm unidentified contact.”
Static.
Then a faint reply.
“Western Observation. Stand by. We're checking a possible wake beyond Marker Seven.”
Maki frowned.
“A wake?”
Reina slowly lowered her cup.
For a moment, her expression became thoughtful.
The western approach had been quiet throughout the air raid.
Too quiet, perhaps.
All attention had been directed eastward.
Aircraft.
Bombers.
Antiaircraft fire.
The fuel district.
The inner harbor.
Reina looked toward Shizuku.
The Nagato-class girl's expression had changed.
Something uneasy passed between them.
Maki spoke again.
“Western Observation, can you identify the source?”
The radio crackled.
“Negative. We have intermittent interference on the surface-search set.”
Chiyo straightened.
Mitsuki looked toward the channel.
Reina's fingers tightened around the cup.
Then—
Maki cried out.
Not a warning.
Not an instruction.
A scream.
“AAAH—!”
The explosion struck beneath her aft equipment.
It happened so suddenly that Reina registered the flash before she understood the sound.
A towering white column erupted from the water.
A violent orange burst tore through the Mogami-class girl's rigging.
Steel fragments flew outward.
The ocean lifted.
Then collapsed in a rolling wall of spray.
Maki's body jerked sideways.
Her aviation-cruiser structures twisted violently.
A section of the aft equipment broke apart.
And the girl disappeared behind the explosion.
For one impossible instant, Reina simply stared.
The teacup slipped from her fingers.
It struck the metal servicing platform.
Shattered.
And the sound vanished beneath the roar of the blast.
“Maki?”
No answer.
The smoke shifted.
The spray began falling.
Reina saw the wreckage.
Then the girl.
Maki was still there.
But she was sinking.
The Torpedo Came from the West
“MAKI!”
Reina's voice tore across the fleet circuit.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Not because they didn't want to.
Because the explosion had happened too quickly for anyone to understand.
One instant, five friends had been standing together in the afternoon sunlight.
The next, the western side of the anchorage had become a churning crater of water, smoke, and broken machinery.
Then Shizuku moved.
“ALL STATIONS! TORPEDO HIT! TORPEDO HIT! WESTERN APPROACH!”
Her voice cut through the radio traffic like a blade.
Mitsuki turned toward the channel.
Chiyo stumbled back from the spreading wave.
Reina stared through the falling spray.
And Maki—
Maki was trying to stay above the surface.
The Mogami-class girl's aft aviation equipment had been torn almost completely out of alignment. Heavy sections hung at terrible angles, connected by twisted supports and broken securing mechanisms.
One of her floatplane handling structures was gone.
Another floated nearby, burning.
The torpedo had struck beneath the rigging's aft buoyancy and machinery spaces, where the underwater explosion had opened several compartments to the sea at once.
The damage was catastrophic.
Water rushed into the compromised structures.
The remaining propulsion assemblies dragged unevenly.
The girl had lost her balance.
And the weight of her flooding equipment was pulling her downward.
Maki tried to raise her head.
Her mouth opened.
A strangled sound escaped.
“Rei—”
The water rose around her shoulders.
Then another broken assembly shifted.
Maki screamed.
Reina moved.
She didn't remember deciding to.
One moment, she was standing beside the servicing station.
The next, she was driving her carrier equipment forward as fast as its cumbersome structures permitted.
“Maki!”
The water splashed around her legs.
Behind her, fairy crews shouted warnings as the aviation deck lurched.
Reina barely heard them.
She could see Maki.
That was all that mattered.
The Mogami-class girl was struggling against the sinking weight of her rigging.
She reached toward a release control.
Pulled.
Nothing happened.
She tried again.
The damaged mechanism remained jammed.
“IT WON'T—!”
Another wave struck.
Her mouth disappeared beneath the water.
Reina's stomach turned to ice.
“MAKI!”
Shizuku reached her first.
The Nagato-class girl caught Maki beneath one arm, bracing herself against the sudden downward force.
Her expression changed immediately.
“Oh, no.”
Reina arrived beside them.
“What?”
Shizuku's voice was strained.
“Her equipment—!”
She pulled.
The enormous flooded structure barely moved.
Mitsuki surged forward from the southern sector.
Chiyo began issuing frantic orders to her aviation crews.
“Hōshō group to Harbor Rescue! Emergency assistance at the western defense line! Keelborn casualty! Bring flotation equipment and cutting tools!”
Reina caught Maki's other arm.
The girl's face was pale.
Water streamed from her hair.
She was breathing in short, ragged gasps.
“Maki.”
Her eyes moved toward Reina.
“Hurts.”
Reina swallowed.
“I know.”
“It hurts—”
“I know.”
The carrier girl tightened her grip.
“Stay with me.”
Maki tried to answer.
Then cried out as the damaged aft assembly shifted again.
A fresh surge of water poured through the broken equipment.
The weight increased.
Shizuku gritted her teeth.
“Reina, we can't hold this!”
The carrier girl looked toward the jammed release mechanism.
Then toward the twisted steel.
She knew what needed to happen.
They had to isolate the flooding sections.
Release the damaged rigging.
Or cut the connections before they dragged Maki beneath the surface.
All of that required time.
Tools.
Personnel.
A stable work platform.
They had none of those things.
Maki slipped another few inches.
Water climbed toward her chin.
Reina pulled harder.
Her own heavy carrier equipment protested the uneven loading.
One of the support assemblies groaned.
She ignored it.
“NO!”
Maki's eyes widened.
For a moment, her fear was unmistakable.
Not the controlled fear of an experienced combatant.
Not the weary irritation she'd displayed during the air raid.
The terrified expression of a young woman who knew she was being dragged underwater and couldn't make herself stop.
“REINA!”
The carrier girl's chest tightened.
She pulled again.
“I'm here!”
Maki tried to grab her wrist.
Her fingers slipped.
Reina caught them.
Held tight.
“I'M HERE!”
The radio erupted.
“Harbor Control to all units! Underwater explosion confirmed! Possible hostile torpedo!”
“Western Observation reporting multiple surface disturbances!”
“Repeat, unidentified wakes in the western channel!”
“Security craft moving to investigate—”
A burst of static cut across the channel.
Then another voice shouted:
“CONTACT! CONTACT! SMALL SURFACE UNITS WEST OF MARKER SEVEN!”
Reina looked up.
Her eyes widened.
Beyond the disturbed water, past the outer channel markers, faint shapes were moving through the haze.
Not aircraft.
Ships.
Or rather—
Keelborn.
Female figures traveling over the sea with combat rigging deployed around them.
Several were small and fast.
Destroyer-sized equipment.
Low silhouettes.
Torpedo armaments.
They were using the broken reef line and the smoke from the air raid to conceal their approach.
A perfect firing position.
Close enough to launch.
Far enough away that anyone watching the eastern sky might never have noticed until the torpedoes were already in the water.
Reina's blood ran cold.
“Who are they?”
Mitsuki turned toward the western channel.
Her expression changed.
She recognized the silhouettes.
Not as individuals.
But as something far worse than another Blackwake formation.
Those were ordinary Keelborn designs.
Real naval equipment.
Nothing malformed.
Nothing covered in pulsing black growths.
No green light burning beneath corrupted armor.
The approaching girls carried the familiar outlines of Union and former-player ship classes.
And their weapons were aimed directly at Halcyon Roads.
Mitsuki opened the fleet channel.
“Unidentified Keelborn formation! You are approaching an Admiralty Union military installation! Identify yourselves immediately!”
No answer.
The distant figures continued moving.
One turned slightly.
Its torpedo mounts trained toward the harbor.
Mitsuki's eyes widened.
“TORPEDO LAUNCHERS! THEY'RE PREPARING ANOTHER SALVO!”
Shizuku tightened her grip around Maki.
“Reina!”
The Kaga-class girl looked back.
Maki was still sinking.
Still breathing.
Barely.
The water had reached her mouth again.
Reina pulled.
Her shoulders screamed.
“Hold on!”
Chiyo moved closer.
Her own carrier equipment was too light to safely absorb the enormous forces involved, but she could support Maki's upper body while the others fought to release the damaged rigging.
She reached beneath the girl's shoulder.
“Take my hand!”
Maki tried.
Her fingers trembled.
Chiyo caught them.
“Good!”
She forced a smile.
“Good. Don't let go.”
Behind them, the harbor's rescue sirens began sounding.
Again.
The same sirens that had fallen silent only minutes earlier.
The same people who had barely finished assessing the air raid now ran back toward their emergency stations.
A shore battery began traversing toward the western channel.
Searchlights swung.
Observers shouted into telephones.
A patrol craft accelerated out of the inner harbor.
And Reina realized something terrible.
This wasn't another air raid.
It wasn't even another Blackwake attack.
Someone had deliberately waited until the defenders were exhausted.
Until their aircraft were recovering.
Until their antiaircraft ammunition was depleted.
Until the western approaches were obscured by the smoke and confusion of the battle.
Then they'd fired a torpedo at an unsuspecting Keelborn.
The thought was so appalling that, for a moment, Reina couldn't make herself believe it.
Why?
Why would another Keelborn attack them?
Why would anyone—
A thunderous sound rolled across the water.
Not a torpedo explosion.
Something deeper.
Heavier.
A sound that seemed to strike the surface of the sea and travel through the island itself.
Reina looked up.
Far beyond the western channel, enormous splashes rose in the ocean.
One.
Then another.
Then another.
A salvo.
Heavy-caliber naval gunfire.
Her breath caught.
The water columns rose higher than the nearby patrol vessels.
They were not fired from destroyer-sized rigging.
Not from an ordinary cruiser.
The trajectories pointed toward the distant horizon, where something enormous was moving behind the smoke.
Reina stared.
Then whispered:
“...No.”
USS Ironwake
The western haze began to clear.
Slowly.
Cruelly.
The smoke drifting from the destroyed Blackwake aircraft had obscured the distant sea throughout the afternoon.
Now the wind was carrying it away.
And something emerged.
At first, Reina saw only a silhouette.
A long, powerful bow.
A towering forward superstructure.
The unmistakable arrangement of three great triple-gun turrets.
Two forward.
One aft.
Nine sixteen-inch guns.
The silhouette was enormous.
Too enormous to be a Keelborn girl's equipment.
It was an actual battleship.
A full-sized ship.
Steel.
Armor.
Engines.
Hundreds upon hundreds of tons of machinery in every major structural section.
A vessel designed to cross entire oceans and fight other capital ships.
Its hull displaced more water than the surrounding Keelborn rigging could ever hope to imitate.
And it was advancing toward Halcyon Roads beneath its own power.
Reina knew the class immediately.
Anyone who had spent enough time playing FRONTLINE HEARTS would have recognized it.
An Iowa-class battleship.
One of the most formidable conventional surface combatants represented in the old game.
Fast.
Heavily armored.
Equipped with nine sixteen-inch naval rifles and a vast array of supporting weapons.
An Iowa-class battleship wasn't a Keelborn.
She was a real ship.
Crewed.
Operated.
And fought by people.
Reina stared toward the bridge.
Through the magnification of her observation equipment, she could see men moving along the open decks.
Men at antiaircraft positions.
Men beneath the bridge wings.
Men in naval uniforms.
Former players.
An entirely male ship's company.
She had seen this particular vessel before.
Not in person.
In fleet bulletins.
Shipping advisories.
Photographs circulated through the old player networks after the Crisis.
A battleship with a reputation for aggression, exceptionally well-drilled gunnery, and a captain who rarely accepted anyone else's operational authority without argument.
For a time, the ship had operated under the same broad Admiralty Union command structure as Halcyon Roads.
Then the reports had become irregular.
Its last authorized assignment had not placed it anywhere near this anchorage.
Reina stared at the ship's silhouette.
At the bridge.
At the signal mast.
At the distinctive hull markings.
Her expression became horrified.
She knew.
Before the radio call.
Before the final recognition report.
She knew.
“...Ironwake.”
Shizuku looked toward her.
“What?”
Reina swallowed.
“The battleship.”
She stared through the smoke.
“That's Ironwake.”
A second later, Harbor Control confirmed it.
“WESTERN APPROACH CONTACT IDENTIFIED! IOWA-CLASS BATTLESHIP!”
Static crackled.
Then—
“VISUAL IDENTIFICATION CONFIRMED! USS IRONWAKE!”
The name struck Reina harder than the explosion.
USS Ironwake.
An American-designed Iowa-class battleship.
Crewed entirely by male former players.
Not an ordinary ship that had wandered off course.
Not an unidentified vessel requesting emergency assistance.
Not a warship that had accidentally crossed into restricted waters.
Its escorts had already torpedoed Maki.
Its main guns had fired on the approaches to Halcyon Roads.
And now its turrets were turning toward the harbor.
Reina's voice came out barely above a whisper.
“Why?”
No one answered.
Far beyond the battleship, additional shapes were appearing through the haze.
Keelborn.
Many of them.
Cruiser-class girls with heavy gun equipment.
Destroyers spreading outward into a broad attack formation.
And farther behind—
Reina saw a long, low structure rising above the water.
A carrier flight deck.
Then another.
Her stomach sank.
Carrier Keelborn.
With operational aircraft already launching.
This was no unauthorized scouting party.
No confused patrol.
No single mutinous ship acting alone.
This was a fleet.
An organized force.
A rogue fleet.
And it had come to Halcyon Roads with enough firepower to tear the supply hub apart.
“Halcyon Control to unidentified formation! Cease fire immediately! You are attacking friendly forces!”
The voice was strained.
Desperate.
“Repeat! This is Admiralty Union territory! Cease fire!”
Static.
Then a new voice entered the channel.
Male.
Calm.
Amplified by the radio equipment of a full-sized warship.
“Halcyon Roads, this is USS Ironwake.”
Reina went cold.
The voice continued.
“You are ordered to stand down your defensive batteries and surrender control of the anchorage.”
Mitsuki stared toward the approaching battleship.
Her face twisted in disbelief.
“Ordered?”
The transmission continued.
“Your shipping infrastructure, fuel reserves, and military stores are now under the authority of our fleet. Resistance will be treated as hostile action.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Shizuku's expression hardened.
She looked toward the sea.
Toward the approaching destroyers.
Toward the smoking wreckage of Maki's equipment.
And she opened her mouth.
“Hostile action?”
Her voice trembled.
Not from fear.
From anger.
“You torpedoed us!”
Reina tightened her grip around Maki.
The injured girl was barely conscious.
Her head rested against Chiyo's shoulder.
Her fingers had gone cold.
Reina looked toward the battleship.
Her expression changed.
The exhaustion remained.
The fear remained.
But something else rose beneath it.
Fury.
Cold.
Clear.
Utterly disbelieving fury.
She pressed the communications control.
“Ironwake, this is the Kaga-class carrier defending Halcyon Roads.”
A pause.
Then the male voice answered.
“We hear you.”
Reina stared toward the distant ship.
Her voice was controlled with enormous effort.
“You attacked us without warning.”
No answer.
“You torpedoed one of my friends.”
Still nothing.
Her grip tightened.
“And now you're demanding our surrender?”
For a moment, the channel remained quiet.
Then the man aboard Ironwake answered.
“Stand down. You have no chance of winning.”
Reina stared.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Then she laughed.
Once.
A short, bitter sound.
“Wonderful.”
Shizuku glanced toward her.
The carrier girl's smile vanished.
She looked back at the battleship.
“Absolutely wonderful.”
Then she cut the open channel.
And turned toward her friends.
The Sky Darkens
The first warning came from the western observation station.
“INCOMING AIRCRAFT! LARGE FORMATION! WESTERN APPROACH!”
Reina's head snapped upward.
Beyond the rogue fleet, dark specks were rising into the sky.
Dozens.
At first, they resembled distant seabirds.
Then their shapes became clearer.
Carrier aircraft.
Fighters.
Attack planes.
Bombers.
Entire formations of them.
Not Blackwake aircraft.
Not malformed machines dripping green fire.
These were ordinary naval aircraft.
Maintained.
Fueled.
Armed.
Flown by living fairy crews.
And they were coming from the carrier Keelborn accompanying Ironwake.
Reina stared.
Her own aircraft were recovering.
Several were damaged.
Others were low on fuel.
Most had expended much of their ammunition.
Mio and the other exhausted pilots were supposed to be eating, receiving medical checks, and sleeping.
Instead, the sky was filling with another attack.
From people who should have been allies.
Chiyo turned toward her aviation equipment.
Her face had gone pale.
“Reina.”
The Kaga-class girl looked toward her.
The Hōshō-class carrier swallowed.
“We can't launch enough.”
Reina knew.
She knew exactly how many operational fighters remained.
Exactly how many needed repairs.
How much ammunition was available.
How many fairy pilots were fit to fly.
How much fuel remained in the ready tanks.
She'd spent the last hour counting it.
And the answer was nowhere near enough.
Shizuku looked toward Ironwake.
The battleship's forward turrets were elevating.
Slowly.
Methodically.
Nine great guns preparing to fire.
Mitsuki turned her own heavy armament toward the approaching fleet.
But the range was unfavorable.
The enemy was already organized for battle.
And Halcyon Roads' defenders were scattered, exhausted, and trying desperately to keep one of their own from disappearing beneath the water.
Maki made a faint sound.
Reina looked down.
The Mogami-class girl's eyes were half-open.
Her lips moved.
“Reina...”
The carrier girl leaned closer.
“I'm here.”
Maki swallowed.
Her breathing was painfully shallow.
“Don't...”
Reina tightened her grip.
“Don't what?”
The girl tried to speak.
No sound came.
Another broken section of her equipment shifted underwater.
Shizuku nearly lost her footing.
“Reina!”
The Kaga-class girl looked toward the damaged rigging.
Then toward the approaching fleet.
She understood.
If they kept holding Maki, they would remain stationary.
Exposed.
Unable to maneuver.
Unable to bring most of their weapons to bear.
And if they released her—
Reina looked down.
Maki's fingers tightened weakly around hers.
“No.”
The word escaped before she realized she'd spoken.
She looked toward Shizuku.
Then Mitsuki.
Then Chiyo.
Her friends.
The girls who had fought beside her for almost two months.
The girls who had stood together only minutes earlier, planning dinner.
Reina's voice trembled.
“We're not leaving her.”
Shizuku met her eyes.
Then nodded.
“No.”
Mitsuki's expression hardened.
“Never.”
Chiyo tightened her hold around Maki.
“Help is coming.”
They could hear the rescue boats now.
Engines roaring.
People shouting.
But the boats were still too far away.
And the rogue fleet was already opening fire.
The first sixteen-inch salvo erupted from Ironwake's forward turrets.
The battleship vanished behind a rolling cloud of muzzle smoke and flame.
Nine hundred feet of warship recoiled beneath the violence of its guns.
The sound arrived across the water like thunder.
Then another battleship in the rogue formation fired.
Then a heavy cruiser.
Then another.
The western horizon flashed.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Shells climbed into the blue sky, racing toward Halcyon Roads along enormous ballistic arcs.
The coastal warning sirens began screaming.
“INCOMING HEAVY GUNFIRE!”
“ALL PERSONNEL TAKE COVER!”
“WESTERN BATTERIES, RETURN FIRE!”
“CARRIER AIRCRAFT INBOUND!”
“MOGAMI CASUALTY STILL IN THE WATER!”
The radio dissolved into overlapping voices.
Reina looked toward the sky.
The first shell bursts began appearing above the outer harbor.
Dark.
Violent.
Enormous.
Water columns rose where rounds struck short.
The shock waves reached across the anchorage.
And above those bursts, the rogue carrier aircraft continued advancing.
Their formations spread outward.
Fighters taking positions ahead of the strike groups.
Bombers descending.
Torpedo aircraft dropping toward the sea.
Hundreds of moving shapes seemed to occupy the western sky.
The afternoon sunlight began disappearing behind smoke.
Not clouds.
Smoke.
Shell bursts.
Burning debris.
The exhaust trails of aircraft diving toward the harbor.
The dark wings of an approaching carrier strike.
The sky itself seemed to be closing.
Reina looked toward her own flight deck.
Her fairy crews were scrambling.
One mechanic was dragging ammunition toward a fighter that had barely finished landing.
Another was trying to refuel an aircraft with a damaged wing.
Mio had returned from her medical check and was standing beside her Zero.
The tiny pilot looked up.
Saw the enemy formations.
And froze.
Her friend caught her arm.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Mio looked toward Reina.
Their eyes met.
The carrier girl's heart twisted.
She knew what the pilot was about to ask.
She knew.
And she hated that the answer might have to be yes.
“Kaga group to all aircraft crews,” Reina said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. “Stand by for emergency launch authorization.”
The fairy deck chief looked toward the exhausted pilots.
Then saluted.
“Standing by.”
Reina swallowed.
She looked down at Maki.
Then toward the battleship advancing through the western haze.
USS Ironwake.
Its forward guns were already reloading.
Its escorts were spreading across the harbor approaches.
And the rogue carrier aircraft were almost within striking distance.
Shizuku adjusted her grip around the wounded Mogami-class girl.
Her face was pale.
“Reina.”
The carrier girl turned.
The Nagato-class battleship looked toward the western sky.
Then back.
For the first time that afternoon, Reina saw genuine fear in her friend's eyes.
“Can we stop them?”
Reina opened her mouth.
No answer came.
She looked toward the approaching aircraft.
The shells.
The battleship.
The damaged harbor.
The wounded girl in her arms.
The exhausted fairy crews preparing to launch again.
Then she slowly shook her head.
“I...”
A distant whistle began rising.
Thin at first.
Then louder.
The unmistakable sound of heavy shells descending.
Reina looked up.
Through the smoke, she could see the incoming salvo.
Beyond it, the rogue carrier aircraft were beginning their attack runs.
Mitsuki shouted something over the radio.
Chiyo cried out.
Shizuku tightened her grip.
Maki barely moved.
And Reina, Kaga-class carrier, twenty-nine years old, veteran of nearly two months of relentless fighting, stood in the water with her sinking friend in her arms and realized that the air raid they had just survived might have been the easiest battle of the day.
Above them, the sky darkened with shells.
Beyond those shells came the aircraft.
And beyond the aircraft—
USS Ironwake's guns flashed again.
Reina stared upward.
There was nowhere to run.
No time to recover.
No time to launch enough fighters.
No time to save everyone.
The first shells were almost upon them.
And then—
—the deep blue opened. Reina was numb.
She was sinking. Her pendant was floating up to the surface.
I'm going to die. Was the last thought she had before the dark depths swallowed her whole.
To be continued in Chapter 3 — “The Rogue Fleet.”