El Corazón—March 5th, 1890—06:00

Engineer Viktor Aleksandrov

"Remember the cover story, Viktor. A man's life depends on it," Antonio warned as he walked the engineer to the airlock where Gilbert's team was waiting on one of the safety boats for him.

"Yes sir," Viktor nodded.

"James, the Scottish man, will be the leader of this. Anything he tells you, you listen. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

Antonio punched a few buttons, and the door to the airlock opened, revealing a small craft with white sails. Standing next to it were two individuals wearing heavy woolen cloaks, though only one of them had their hood up.

"So you're Viktor, huh? I kinda expected you to be a bit...cooler," the man without his hood said. Viktor found himself at a loss for words.

"Pleasure to meet you, too," he finally stammered. The hooded man nodded.

"You gonna be okay without your engineer for a day, Antonio? Wouldn't want all hell to break loose," the man without the hood said.

"Sí! We'll be fine! Just get Señor Zwingli to a hospital! We'll see you in a day! Now go!" Antonio said.

"Captain Carriedo is right, Mathias. We have to get going, now," the hooded man, whom Viktor assumed to be James, said with a nod. Viktor saluted Antonio and followed the other two onto the small vessel. Lying on a small pallet in the centre of the boat was a very pale man with shoulder-length blond hair and vicious-looking cuts all over his face and arms.

"Take care, you guys! Adios!"

The airlock opened, Mathias started the engine of the craft, and before Viktor knew it, they were in the open air, El Corazón rapidly fading from view.

After a few minutes, James stretched, and removed his hood, earning a gasp from Viktor.

Rather than a large, burly Scotsman as he had expected, Viktor found himself face-to-face with a young woman, her mahogany hair held back from her face by a pair of combs. She had cat-like grey eyes, and wore an even more cat-like grin.

"W-who are you? Where's James?" Viktor stuttered.

"Aye...about that. There never was a 'James' so to speak. It's a long and drawn out story, and I've already had to share it once today, but all you need to know is that I am still leader of this team. Understood?" the woman said in a strong Scottish accent.

Viktor nodded, before adding, "Okay, so what do I call you?"

"Normally, I'd say Iona, but for today's purposes, call me Margaret. The story still stands, we are siblings who have recently been attacked by Russian Federation ships, and our brother, Winston, has been wounded badly, but instead of being a band of brothers, you now have a sister. You will let me do most of the talking, lest your accent gives us away, and only speak when directly asked a question. Do you remember the name I gave you?"

"Yes, I do. I am Charlie Macdonald, I am twenty years of age, and I have been working as a missionary in Bulgaria for the past year," Viktor said confidently. The more he spoke with the Scotswoman, the less she made him nervous, and he hoped he conveyed that.

"Good. We'll be landing in about two hours, so make yourself comfortable."

They sat in silence, taking in the scenery afforded them by the open air.

"So...you're from Bulgaria, huh? Isn't that down near Romania?" Mathias said from his reclined position against the side of the boat.

"Да! How'd you guess?" Viktor grinned. He didn't think his accent was that horribly pronounced.

"Captain Beilschmidt told us, plus our second mate is Romanian and gave us a nice imitation of the Bulgarian accent. I'm surprised you didn't meet him during the raid," Mathias laughed, clapping Viktor on the back. Iona smirked, and Viktor assumed that she was thinking of their friend's imitation.

"So...Mathias," Viktor began after a few seconds, keeping his voice quiet enough so that only Mathias could hear.

"Ja?" Mathias answered, his blue eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Did you always know about your...er...about Iona?"

Mathias burst out laughing wildly.

"What? What's so funny?" Viktor said defensively. He scowled.

"Your face! You looked so scared of asking that! Pffft! What're you so scared of? It's a fine question to ask!" Mathias cackled, earning a slap behind the head from Iona.

"Well, did you?"

"Nope! Learned this morning when she came down into the galley wearing a dress and her hair all curly and shit. Almost choked on my coffee, 'specially when she started talking!"

Viktor looked at the Dane incredulously, then spared a glance at Iona, who had returned to wiping Vash's head with a towel.

"How long have you been part of the crew?" Viktor said.

"Four years as of this past January!" Mathias said proudly.

"A-nd how long has she been first mate?"

"Five years and three months," Iona called. Viktor just stared at the two of them.

"Does anyone else find that weird?" he mumbled.

Mathias sat and thought about the Bulgarian's words.

"Yeah, it is a bit odd, and thinking back, we probably should've seen it coming, but when you're dealing with a sorceress and an overprotective ex-boyfriend who's also captain of the ship, you start to see how you could've missed it," the Dane finally said, earning an even more confused look from Viktor.

These people are absolutely нечестив Бати, Viktor thought to himself.

"What'd you just call us, Mister Aleksandrov?" Iona purred. Viktor blanched.

"W-what?"

"You were thinking that we're absolutely something, but I'm afraid I don't speak Bulgarian," she explained, brushing some of Vash's hair back from his face. The man was pale, and even in his sleep, wore a scowl.

"Oh, come on, James! Don't go reading other people's minds just to show off!" Mathias said with a cheesy grin. Iona looked pleased with herself.

"I was bored, Mat. Gimme a break," she said, "and my name's Iona, not James. You've got the wrong Mackenzie-Kirkland's middle name."

"Remember what Mir told you about doing that? It's dangerous to be doing it for shits and grins."

"I'm aware, Mathias, but I like to know who I'm dealing with."

Viktor tuned the pair out, choosing instead to focus on the cool air and the cloudy sky. Before long, he drifted off to sleep, curled up against the side of the craft.

"Viktor! Wait up!" a young man with shaggy strawberry blonde hair yelled.

Viktor stopped walking long enough for the youth to catch up, giving his friend a sly grin.

"You know, Mircea, we would've been at the aerodrome sooner if you weren't so slow," he said.

"I know, I know, but there were some really cool trinkets back there, and I just had to look at them!" Mircea whined, pouting a little. Viktor rolled his eyes.

"We can look at trinkets later. I heard that Antonio Carriedo is looking for men to join his crew!" Viktor huffed.

It was now Mircea's turn to stop dead in his tracks, staring at Viktor with a look of shock and horror.

"Wait...Is that why you want to go to the aerodrome today?" Mircea gasped.

"Why else would I drag you down to go to see a bunch of ships?" Viktor said, as though Mircea's question had been just another of his stupid inquiries.

"Vik, you're not thinking of joining Carriedo's crew, are you?"

"Of course I am! Think about it, Mir! This could be the chance we've been waiting for! Things are looking up! Now come on!"

Mircea didn't move but to sadly shake his head.

"Why're you looking so sad if you're shaking your head yes?" Viktor asked.

"Because, Vik, the rest of the world doesn't shake their heads in affirmation. I can't go, and you know that. If I left, what would become of Stefan? I won't allow him to be placed in some orphanage, meaning I've got to stay with him."

"We could take him with us! He could be the cabin boy or something!" Viktor retorted, his green eyes glittering. Mircea again looked at him sadly.

"Vik, no."

Viktor was rudely awakened by a sudden impact, and a pair of bright blue eyes standing above him.

"Wakey-wakey, Sleeping Beauty!" Mathias yelled, nearly breaking Viktor's eardrum.

"Wha—? Wh're 'mI? Viktor mumbled incoherently.

"Can you repeat that, Buddy? Didn't quite catch it," the Dane said with a smile.

"Never mind," Viktor said, smoothing down his hair. He glanced around, finding himself in a large aerodrome filled with people running this way and that, many of them speaking in a harsh language Viktor identified as German. The Bulgarian spotted Iona standing on the dock itself, talking with an attendant, a worried look on her face. After a few moments, she pointed towards where Vash was lying at the prow of the craft, and waved Viktor and Mathias over.

"This man says that an ambulance will be here in five minutes to take Winston to the hospital. George, can you and Charlie go and get all of our things from the boat? I'm going to make sure that that Win gets off okay," the Scotswoman said in a distinctly English accent. Viktor knew that she meant for them all to speak in such a dialect, and it suddenly made sense why she had told him not to speak unless directly spoken to.

"Of course, Maggie, but don't leave without us!" Mathias replied. Viktor had to try hard not to show his surprise at how convincing Mathias sounded.

"I won't, but be quick," Iona said with a nod.

Viktor and Mathias returned to the vessel, Viktor grabbing all four bags while Mathias discreetly radioed back to Der Adler to notify them that they had arranged for Vash to get medical care.

Once they had rejoined their 'sister,' all three jumped into the back of the ambulance, and left for the hospital.

The English Rose—March 5th, 1890—09:00

Amelia F. Jones

Amelia woke up warm and comfortable, or as comfortable as she could be with stitches in her abdomen, feeling content. She glanced around, surprised to find herself in an empty bedroom which was not her own, though relieved to find that she still wore all of her clothing.

"Oh, good, you're awake," a voice said from the other side of the room. Amelia rolled over and looked at Arthur, who was smoothing out his deep red coat before putting it on.

"And ready to face the world!" Amelia exclaimed, bolting out of the bed, nearly tripping over the sheets.

"I believe you should probably clean yourself up and change your clothing before you go out and take on the world, Miss Jones. I have to go talk with the rest of my crew about something important, but feel free to take your time and get some food. Do try to stay out of the way. Good day, Miss Jones," Arthur said cordially, all warmness from the day before gone. He was out the door before Amelia could say anything else, and the American woman decided she would take the opportunity to find out more about the captain.

A cursory glance around the room revealed nothing, so Amelia started opening various drawers in the desk, which was a smaller version of the one that sat in Arthur's office. Somewhere in her haste, Amelia accidentally knocked over a large book, causing multiple pieces of loose paper to fall out. The pieces were of many differing sizes and colours, some of them pictures, others handwritten notes.

"Jackpot!" she squealed, picking up the papers. One picture had a man and a woman in formal clothing, and Amelia realised that they were probably Arthur's parents. Another piece of paper had a long note written in messy handwriting, obviously from a male sender. Amelia smiled at pictures of a younger Arthur playing with five other kids who all looked fairly similar, and laughed at letters between him and his siblings. The last two pieces of paper, however, sent Amelia's heart down into her stomach.

The first was small with elegant, feminine script, and simply read:

"En Ma Fin Est Mon Commencement.

~Iona Margaret Kirkland-Mackenzie~

25th December, 1885"

The second, a much longer letter, was written in what looked to be an entirely different language, until Amelia realised that it was scots dialect.

"Artie-lad,

Canty birthday, wee brother. You're finally a jimmy, even if ye don't keek lik' yin juist yit. Sorry that Ah can't be thare tae celebrate wi' ye th'day. Hopefully, this letter wis accompanied by mah gift tae ye, fur otherwise, th' neist few lines won't mak' a lick o' sense. It's traditional, in a fowk stowed oot o' Royal Air Force captains, tae the noo a dagger tae a jimmy oan his fifteenth birthday. Fur thare ur sae damn mony o' us, though, th' twins 'n' Dylan hud tae be skipped, meaning you're th' jammy git wha gets tae follow me intae th' Academy 'n' th' RAF. Ye shuid be receiving yer letter sometime aroond Yule, by whilk point, Ah'll be thare tae actually celebrate it wi' ye. Tak' care o' th' dagger, fur ye don't git anither. 'N' Arthur, tak' care o' yersel'. Ah ken it's pernicketie wi'oot th' rest o' us aroond, 'n' you're stuck in Englain by yersel', bit mind, ye aye hae yer fowk, na maiter howfur spread oot it's. We micht tease ye 'n' taunt ye whiles, 'n' Ah realise that hauf th' time, ye juist waant us a' tae gang die in hell, bit at th' end o' th' day, mind that we a' loue ye, 'n' aye wull, regardless o' glaikit hings tae decide. Anyway, Ah hae tae git gaun. They're shipping me aff tae Poland fur th' neist few months, bit Ah'll see ye aroond Yule. Canty birthday, Arthur.

Love,

Alistair"

She didn't understand most of what it was saying because the dialect was so weird, but she noticed that the letter was dated around sometime in October, and suddenly, Amelia felt faintly ill. Arthur had told her that Alistair had been killed ten days before Christmas, meaning that this letter was probably the last time Arthur heard from his brother.

She rapidly put everything back into the pages of the book and replaced it on the shelf, before running out of the room and into her own.

A little while later, she heard Arthur and a few of his men walk past her door, speaking in hushed voices.

"So they've sent a team into Berlin? Wonderful. That's at least a few less people to contend with tomorrow. We'll attack them when their guards are down," Arthur said, earning grunts of approval from the others. Amelia listened to their footsteps echo down the hallway, making sure they were out of earshot before letting out a small whimper, tears escaping from her eyes

Alistair's Letter Translation:

"Artie-lad,

Happy Birthday, Little Brother. You're finally a man, even if you don't look like one just yet. Sorry that I can't be there to celebrate with you today. Hopefully, this letter was accompanied by my gift to you, because otherwise, the next few lines won't make a lick of sense. It's traditional, in a family full of Royal Air Force captains, to present a dagger to a man on his fifteenth birthday. Because there are so damn many of us, though, the twins and Dylan had to be skipped, meaning you're the lucky git who gets to follow me into the Academy and the RAF. You should be receiving your letter sometime around Christmas, by which point, I'll be there to actually celebrate it with you. Take care of the dagger, because you don't get another. And Arthur, take care of yourself. I know it's difficult without the rest of us around, and you're stuck in England by yourself, but remember, you always have your family, no matter how spread out it is. We might tease you and taunt you sometimes, and I realise that half the time, you just want us all to go die in Hell, but at the end of the day, remember that we all love you, and always will, regardless of stupid decisions. Anyway, I have to get going. They're shipping me off to Poland for the next few months, but I'll see you around Christmas. Happy Birthday, Arthur.

Love,

Alistair"