I apologize for the long delay. Happy Holidays from me :D.

"Lieutenant!"

"Yes Captain?" the state immediately straightened up and saluted him.

"Follow me," he turned around and went down the stairs to the bottom levels of the ship.

"Yes sir," she nodded to the other sailors working with her. "Carry on men."

"Here," he motioned to his private quarters.

"What do you need my assistance with, Captain?" she asked, her stance tall and erect. It was the same position she had been standing in when she spoke out against America. He suddenly felt small, for she towered over him a good inch or two.

"I'm afraid we have to drop formalities so quickly, Miss. Jones. But please be at ease in here. I don't want to have any more confusion in this chaos."

The state was pulling a rather interesting face when he said this. Her bottom lip curled and jutted out, her displeasure evidently noticeable. He couldn't tell whether it was him calling her by her real name so quickly into the trip, or the 'chaos' he mentioned.

"What is wrong, captain?" she asked, not bothering to relax her stance one bit. He gestured at the map lying down on the table at the far end of the cabin.

"I've been informed of Germany activities around these waters. Submarines, battleships, aircraft carriers—the whole lot." He looked up when she didn't respond and wasn't surprised to see her teeth biting into her lower lip, a fierce look in her eyes.

"Isn't this just a normal ship—a transporter?" she asked finally, he watched with unease as she continued to bite her lip. So far, no blood had left her mouth.

"Yes, except the entire original crew was replaced with Navy officers to provide the best possible defense in case this happened overseas."

"And you're trained in this sort of encounter?" she raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"No, ma'am," he wilted under her gaze. "Not so much. This ship doesn't offer us the usual arsenal of weapons we use."

"Remind me when we return to port to tell the Admiral about this…situation," she scowled and turned away from him, walking over until she was looking at another large map attached to the wall. "There are no sorts of weaponry aboard?"

"A few firearms here and there, Miss. Jones. But our skills are in naval warfare," he shrugged helplessly. "It would do us better to have the Marines or the Army with us."

"Or the Air Force," she grumbled, remembering the pilots often carried around pistols. "Anybody really."

"F-forgive us for being so unprepared, Miss. Jones," the Captain apologized, stuttering slightly.

"It's not really a problem. I was unprepared as well," she shrugged. "But now, we need to figure out what we're going to do."

"We should warn other American ships nearby. And maybe send a message back to the port."

"Go and do that," she ordered, not looking up when he stood there questionably.

"Miss. Jones, on what authorization am I going to use? The men won't listen to me without proper authorization."

"Use my influence!" she snapped. "Get me a piece of paper!" He handed her a small square of paper from his desk. With a quick motion, she drew her seal. He watched this with surprise; she could recall every detail on the complicated circle and duplicated it as easily as she scrawled her name below it.

"Now take this and go!" she shoved it at him, her hand colliding with his chest and knocking the wind out of him. "And come back here when you're done!"

"Oh God, she really is gone!" America wailed facedown on his dining room table. Across from him, both England and Texas exchanged awkward looks before England reached over and patted him gingerly.

"Ah'm sure she's all right," Texas shrugged, though his nonchalant words didn't match his current mood. "She's always jokin' around."

The American looked up and him, his weepy eyes cast downward, giving him the strange, watery effect of a depressed dog.

"Well, maybe she ain't playin' righ' now," he suddenly looked uncomfortable and shifted in his seat, trying to gaze at something other than the whining country. "Course I ain't sayin' she'd just let em' take her away without no fight. She's the las' one to let a German lay a hand on her."

"But she's gone! Germany called and wanted to know how many kegs she was worth!"

"But Germany doesn't fight like that!" England stammered. "Are you absolutely sure it was the Kraut?" America nodded slowly and he slunk back into his chair, shock registering all over his face.

"Mr. Jones, sir!" a loud, tall man in army attire marched into the room. He saluted both countries and the state at the table. A folded sheet of paper was clenched in his fist.

"What is it, General?" Texas asked, standing up, not bothering to salute back.

"There is an urgent message with Miss. Jones's authorization!" he shouted. "She requests all American ships to be armed, and for all of our ships located in the open Atlantic to dock in a port immediately!"

"Order the latter first," he ordered quickly. "We ain't gonna have all ships armed in an hour. Ah'll send the message ta the Admiral."

"Yes, sir!" the general saluted and was on his way again. The man turned to the whimpering country by his side.

"Did that calm ya?" he asked dryly. "She sent the message, didn't she?" America lifted his head and gave him a watery smile.

"You didn't even ask for proper authorization! How do you know it wasn't Germany that ordered that!" England burst out. "It could have been anyone!"

"That was one of Cali's generals!" Texas snapped. "They're trained ta recognize her symbol!"

"We are in a war, you nit! You have to be careful! You don't even know if that blasted sister of yours is planning to ally with the Axis!"

"Shut up!" the ragged state roared, seizing a chair next to him and lifting it much higher than England could possibly have.

"Texas!"

England had only a minute glance at the angry state before the chair crashed down and the Texan was thrown roughly into the wall behind him. He heard a crunch at the impact and prayed that it wasn't several of the state's bones breaking. The sight of seeing broken limbs would be enough to have him hurl.

"Get ahold of yourself!" he suddenly found America at his side, his red eyes and tears gone from his face. The Yankee wrapped a strong arm around his waist, drawing him closer. England immediately tried to slip away from his body, but stopped when he saw the Texan slowly stand up amidst the rubble.

"How dare you speak as if we don't care? How dare you speak about her like that?" Though he was shorter than America, his expression was clearly the frightening aspect. England glanced up only once, before directing his gaze to the wall behind his head as he stepped forward. He felt America's hand tighten protectively and looked up at his brother's face, surprised to see his blue orbs flaming with anger.

"Texas, I had the liberty of ordering my men to have a ship made ready for you. They will take you to Germany, where you will get your sister and then return here," America said evenly.

"Because you have to stay with him?" the red-eyed man barked. His normal, sky blue eyes had changed, as well as his personality. Every word he spoke was laced with malice. "Because he's more important than your right-hand?"

"Oh dear, he finally lost it," England tried to joke shakily, but he felt fingers at his lips and then America put a crushing force on his mouth, preventing him from speaking.

"Do I have to call your counterpart out and hurt you?" he asked coldly. For a brief instant, the country's eyes flickered from blue to red then back to blue. Texas—or whatever monstrosity he had become—let out a hiss and took a step back.

"Just try," he launched another chair at them, but this attempt was feeble as it fell short of its intended target. He swiftly left the room, the door slamming and then falling off its hinges. There was silence, the dust settled after being blown up by the falling door.

"Sorry about that, Artie," America lowered his arm and gave him a bright smile. "He's usually not so out of place. Though I do admit it was time for one of his infamous outbursts."

"W-what was that?" he sputtered. "J-just what was that?"

"Tex being a moron." And why was America still giving him that careless smile? England had always known the cowboy to be laidback and relaxed with the occasional bursts of western stubbornness. This was the first time he saw the state have such an explosive temper.

"Hey, don't worry," he looked up in disbelief as America put a hand on his shoulder. "Everything's going to be fine. You think Germany could stand up to that?"

"No," England forced himself to smile and shake his head. "No, the Kraut probably can't."

And for the first time, he was glad he wasn't at war with America.

"Miss. Jones! A submarine has emerged on the starboard side!"

There was immediate response on the deck as sailors hurriedly shoved themselves out of the way as the state advanced from below deck.

"Turn the ship into her!" she shouted as she made her way up the steps. "We're bigger and carrying heavier cargo. Hard and fast!"

"But they'll board us, Miss. Jones!" the captain was running by her side, wringing his hands.

"Which is why I said 'hard and fast', Captain," she turned faced him, her head held high. He shrunk under her authority and nodded quickly. "I have no intention of giving this ship up to the Germans or Italians. This ship will make it to Britain or return back to America. There is no other choice. And I would hold onto something sturdy."

The Captain had barely registered her words before a resounding crack filled his ears and a huge jolt caused him to fall to his knees. Looking up, he noticed the state didn't fall, or even show an ounce of surprise at the impact. Instead, she continued her march to the starboard deck.

"They're coming aboard!" someone shouted as he struggled to his feet. A shot rang out and he thought he heard someone fall to the ground. And then there was the bone-chilling laughter.

"Aye Avast, you American Yanks!" he gulped down a shudder and leaned up against one of the supporting beams, gathering his wits about him.

It wasn't Germans, it was pirates. Anybody else would scoff at this notion, but not him. No. Not he. He had been in the Navy for too long to know. There were pirates—modern day pirates.

"I demand you all surrender yer weapons and every keg of beer on this here ship!"

But did pirates really want just weapons and beer from an American ship?

"—and all yer women!"

Ah. There was that final demand.

There was another gunshot, this one louder than the other. A man screamed in pain and fell overboard; the splash wasn't heard over the leader's shouting.

"If anybody else shoots! I'll kill yer Captain and burn you all alive in yer ship! Now give me every keg of beer and ammunition—"

Another one of the invading party let out a loud scream, followed quickly by the leader's grunt. Someone had thrown a large metal object at the submarine. He started running, knowing exactly who had the power to knock out two men at once in a single throw.

He saw the state first—she was crouching on the deck, her back to him. She had her hands palm up on the deck, he repressed a cry when he realized the red liquid dripping off her hands was blood—though not her own.

"Who threw that? You bastard!" The loud voice came from a pale man with white hair. His hand was covering his eyes, apparently the state had aimed higher than he had expected. "You could have taken out one of my eyes!"

Once again, the captain had to repress a cry of shock as the man removed his hand and opened his eyes. He would have thought the white hair was enough of a fright, but no—the leader had bright red eyes.

Eyes the same color as the blood spilling off her hands.

And if his deductions were correct, the state had thrown an oxygentank at him head-on. There was no way he would still be conscious. She had hit two men, the first on the ground passed out—maybe dead from trauma—and the second leaning against the rail, rubbing his eye after getting smashed with the metal canister.

He took a large gulp of air as the realization hit him.

There was a "country" here.

"Mr. Jones."

"What is it?" he turned his head, maybe a bit too quickly for the messenger to take. He watched the man freeze with his mouth open. Then again, it might have been the tone in his voice. It was quite a bit smoother than it should have been, bordering on the serial killer's voice.

"Its—we're—your ship is ready, sir," the messenger saluted him, his hand shaking on his forehead. He stood up slowly, looking down at the man—no—boy in front of him.

"Why did you sign up for the Navy, boy?" he asked, amusing himself as he watched the boy's eyes widen in fear.

"B-because I-I wanted to serve m-my country. And y-you, sir," the boy stuttered, his face paling as he looked up at the man.

"That's a good thought." But his smile was anything but reassuring or grateful.

It was enough to have the boy drop his hand and shake on the spot as his eyes followed the man's movements away from his dark corner.

"Don't wet yourself." He dropped a hand on his shoulder, the smile still affixed on his face as he passed.