The Trouble With Steampunk Chpt 4

England sat perched at the top of the yard, eyes bright, looking down at the lovely spectacle that was set before him. Presently, it seemed as if most movement on board below had stopped completely. He chuckled. That was the sort of effect his crew tended to have on people, especially when they were in combat formation. As they drew nearer to the sub, England did a quick check up on the steam pack that was fastened to his back.

High pressurized steam: check. Valves greased and arranged in their proper settings: check.

Heavy long rage rockets, on hand grenades and dual double edged daggers: check

Seeing that everything was in proper order, England took one last glance at ship before strapping on his goggles, and with nod to Carter, he promptly jumped out and dived into the sky below.

Alfred was yelling. More accurately, he was screaming and so loudly that it was nearly incomprehensible. Not that it would have made much of a difference, though, considering that the entirety of the sub was enveloped in complete and utter chaos. The dead silence of only moments ago was over done by the deep drone of mechanical wings that darkened the sky. Attached to the innumerable pair of wings were machines of the most terrifying and peculiar kind; animal like androids, armored in heavy artillery never before seen by the likes of any of them. And while Alfred wasn't so concerned about the artillery, the sight of such horrifying creatures and the sheer number alone was more than enough to send the crew into a panicked frenzy. Outraged by this display of terror, he swiftly stomped his way over to the control panel once more, grabbed a hold of the microphone and flipped the switch on before yelling furiously.

"EVERY ONE CALM THE FUCK DOWN"

Startled by this obscene display, most of the crew members paused and look towards their commander who was currently red faced and breathing heavily.

"Now," he said softly, "if you 'men' would so kindly get into positions so we fucking defend ourselves, I would be much obliged."

The men gave each other a startled glance before quickly hurrying themselves to their previous positions. Satisfied by the show of cooperation, Alfred placed the microphone into its original position and was about head toward the captain, when the glass behind him shattered abruptly and in entered a group of mechanical creatures.

Swiftly, Alfred withdrew his revolver from his coat at shot at three of the robots in quick, unremitting sessions, each one exploding magnificently from the pure amount of power packed into the bullets. Unfazed by the powerful recoil, he turned back to face his crew, eyes bright with excitement.

"Now," he breathed "let's not keep Kaptain Kirkland waiting, shall we?"

Softly, England quietly landed on the roof of the grand submarine. He then laid on his stomach and withdrawing the Dartle Emissionator (again, another invention that England was quite fond of), he proceeded to burn a hole through the titanium roof as if it where tin. Once completed, England took a sample of the three metals that made up the two inch thick exterior armor of the sub. Pocketing his laser, he observed and classified to three metals as titanium, iron, and copper.

'Not bad," he thought, 'Mayhaps I may take the liberty of taking a few meters along with me when all is resolved.'

Stealthily, he dismounted his steampack and slipped through the burnt edged hole, a smile scrawled on his face.

At this point, things were turning out fantastically. The sky that was their battlefield was exploding beautifully with the insides of the wretched mechanisms. Of course, Alfred had to admit that they did take a few blows as well, seeing as the glass was completely shattered all around, one or two of the creatures happened to make it through their defenses, and the rockets and lasers did manage to make a hole here and there, but it was nothing in comparison to the damage that they were inflicting. Of the easily hundreds of creatures, only a few fifty seemed to remain. The rest were either scattered on the floor or floating in the water below like lifeless bodies. And as for everything else, it seemed to be going smoothly as well. The men were fighting valiantly in their positions, shooting their Bk-27 autocannons diligently and without mercy, others firing larger rockets on the chair guns placed on the higher levels of the sub, and some simply shooting at the creatures that manage to slip by their defenses. Among these men was Alfred, swiftly taking out the automatons with his powerful revolver that he personally modified.

He was energetic to say the least; the excitement of battle always seemed to give him more vigor and life. He was thrilled with every triumph; every fallen enemy gave him more energy to take on the next. And the best part was that he didn't even flinch when the androids squealed in their mechanic, high pitched voices. They were only machines. Ever since Alfred's first battle, he had been reluctant with the idea of taking the lives of even enemy soldiers (unless if it was Sylicer of course, he'd take him down without thinking twice) . It was always a problem for him, for even on assassination missions he was known to give mercy. But now in the face of such hideous, non-living creatures, all the inner tension and rage that was bubbling within was released, and fantastically so.

At last, the final shot was fired and the last of the mechanic beings plunged into the depths of the roaring waters. Exhilarated and joyful, Alfred and this crew of men cheered with glee, some throwing their hats in victory, others hugging and high fiving, and some simply continuing their work. Alfred received many handshakes and brofists, simple smiles and nods of appreciation and respect. At this point, his heart was swelling with such joy that he could no longer hold his professional composure and instead flashed radiant smile, eyes bright and glowing.

Eventually, the thrill of victory calmed down and all the men proceeded to clean up the aftermath of the battle, picking up pieces of gadgets and bronze and repairing the holes in the upper walls of the sub. In his good nature, Alfred helped the E-3's sweep up the remnants of the machines, taking off his the upper layer of his uniform and working in his tank top instead. As he was sweeping and humming a catchy tune, he caught glimpse of an E-3 with blood on his shoulder dejectedly picking up the burnt metal and chugging it into a bag. Confused and worried for the fellow, Alfred walked over to the sailor and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey there," he said softly, "You seem injured. Do you want me to patch you up?"

To his surprise, the E-3 didn't respond but continued to sorrowfully pick up the debris, not even facing the commander. Now Alfred was more than confused regarding his behavior. They had just defeated an army of Kirkland's gang and there were no casualties. What could possibly bring the poor fellow down?

"Hey," he said once more, "let me fix you up, okay?"

He pulled the E-3's arm gently and though the sailor still refused to look him in the eye, he obediently followed Alfred into one of storage rooms in which the medication and rations were stocked. As Alfred closed the door behind him, he noticed that the E-3 was quickly advancing on him. Turning swiftly, he was about to strike when he realized that the E-3 wasn't walking, but falling. From offense to help mode, Alfred swoop down and grabbed the sailor just as he was about to hit the ground.

"Sorry," the sailor murmured. "Just a bit woozy there from the blood loss."

As he said this, he flashed a smile at Alfred that left him stunned. He was staring into the most brilliant jade eyes, profound and bright. It nearly left him breathless.

"Something wrong, Commander?" The sailor slurred, his eyes twinkling and his face pale. It was then that Alfred realized that the E-3 was still injured and loosing blood rapidly. Shaking his head to shoo off the light tinge of red on his cheeks (which was solely from embarrassment, mind you), he continued searching for the medical supplies.

Eventually, he found a basic first aid kit behind a box of aged biscuits and turned back to the sailor, who was currently lying on the floor, his arm thrown across his stomach and his jet black hair peeking out from under his hat. Alfred took a brief second to admire the soldier, wounded in battle and all the while remaining calm and breathing evenly despite his injuries. Sighing, he walked towards him with bandages and rubbing alcohol in hand. He then helped the soldier prop himself up against the wall, and then proceeded in unbuttoning his uniform. All the meanwhile, the soldier remained silent with the exception of the occasional remark on the battle. Finally as he took his shirt off, the sailor slumped towards him, his faced buried in Alfred's chest. Again Alfred's cheeks flared up and just as he was about to pluck the dark haired soldier off, he noticed three very odd things.

One, there was no injury on the E-3's bare shoulder. Two, under the locks jet black, a few strands of murky gold hair was peering out. And thirdly, the barrel of a far too familiar revolver was placed neatly under his jaw.

England pulled back from Alfred's chest, a Cheshire cat grin plastered on his face, only to lean back in dangerously close to his face.

"What's wrong, commander?" He drawled, "Surprised to see me? Didn't think I'd let you win that easily now, did you?" England's the shocked look that Alfred displayed.

"K-Kirkland" he managed to stammer under the pressure of the gun.

"The one and only~"

Breaking out into a sweat, Alfred wracked his brain frantically for a way out of the current situation. Finding none, his eyes settled on the bloodied shirt that was hanging loosely off the delinquent's bare torso. Hoping for a distraction, Alfred gulped before clearing his voice.

"The shirt…."

England raised his eyebrow, but did not remove his catlike stare from his prey.

"I hardly think that is of the utmost concern at the moment, commander"

"How did you get it? W-where did the blood come from?"

At this, England's eyes twinkled menacingly, like glittering gold stolen from a dead man's pocket.

"Why, I borrowed it," said he "from a very unfortunate fellow that I happened to cross paths with upon my entering this grand sub. He was very surprised at seeing me, and frankly, so was I. He threatened to raise an alarm and I simply couldn't have such foul play."'

Stunned, Alfred stammered before finding his voice, even then it was barley louder than a whisper

"What…what did you do to him?"

England cocked his head to the side, an amused sneer placed snuggly on his face. Then, very slowly, he leaned in till his face was next to Alfred's, cheek brushing against cheek and whispered softly.

"I did nothing less to him than what you did to my crew."

Suddenly pulling back, aim still steady at Alfred's neck, England stood up, eyes now ablaze with fiery rage.

"And you will pay for great loss you've cost me," He snarled, "You'll pay dearly, with all the live of all the men on deck."

At this, Alfred's eyes widened. Then quickly, without warning, he bounced up and attacked England who reacted a second too late. Gripping England's wrists tightly and above his head, Alfred pinned him to the wall for only second before England responded by folding his legs beneath him, letting his full body weight drag him out and under from Alfred's grip and slipping between his legs . Then, quickly, he turned and round house kicked Alfred promptly in the back, hearing a satisfying crack and cry. Angered, Alfred turned, only wincing slightly before dodging another blow from England's fist, it only narrowly missing his face and knocking his glasses off. As he dodged the blow, he threw a punch of his own into Kirkland's stomach, who gasped and fell back onto the crates of food rations. Alfred, seeing his chance, took the opportunity to kick the gun from out of England's hand and then pin him down. Quickly, England kicked Alfred's legs from underneath him and he fell on top of him. The two then wrangled on the floor, constantly throwing punched to each other's face and abdomen whenever possible and trying to pin the other one down. In the middle of the brawl, England noticed that the revolver was now within his reach. Alfred read the menace in his eyes and they both lunged for the gun, both grabbing it at the same time and dragging it into their struggle.

In a mess of punches and bodies Alfred pulled the gun in between them and pulled the trigger. A loud gunshot rang and the two were suddenly still, one body on top of the other, a trickle of blood oozing out from in between them. A few second passed in which only haggard breaths were heard among the deadly silent before England peeled himself from top of Alfred's warm, sticky chest. Behind him, a large bullet hole the size of his fist was cratered in the wall and in his hand he held a bloodied double edged dagger, dripping the thick liquid onto the metal floor. Alfred remained in the floor, the dark crimson fluid pooling out from a gash in his side. His breathing was labored and strained, and England knew that he was done. Just as he was turning away, he heard Alfred gasp.

"You…won't…get a-away with this, A-arthur" he croaked.

Smirking, Arthur turned around a flashed a sneer.

"Just watch me."

(A/N) Oh man, this took a lot longer than intended. I hope the longer chapter was worth the wait.

I'd like to thank all those who reviewed, and like to apologize as well. For some strange reason, my account won't let me respond to any of your reviews. It makes me sad because I'm unable to express how much I appreciate your feedback and encouragement. You make me gush with every review~ -w-

And now for a quick explanation: I've been getting a lot of questions regarding as to why England is known by his country name while everyone else is known by their human names. I was going to explain in a later chapter, but seeing as the questions continue, I might as well explain it now. In the world that this story takes place, nothing of the Geography is the same nor the names of the countries, but only the culture remains. "Our" world only exists in stories, faery tales you may say, and amongst one of the greatest legends is that of the Country-Island England. "Arthur" adapted this as his "professional" name.

Also, the "Dartle Emissionator" is just a fancy name for a laser :D (Dartle is to shoot forth repeatedly and Emission is to discharge, so repeatedly discharging laser ;])