April 5th

Headquarters of the Council of Five

Upper Ring, Ba Sing Se

0912 hours

"Esteemed generals," announced Secretariat Rau, "I have done as you asked. I now present to you Lieutenant Commander Zhang Min, commander of the ill-fated Eleventh Seaborne Group, missing since the winter. Pending further evidence, he and his entire command have been provisionally presumed dead."

With an ostentatious tug, the man from the Factfinding Directorate pulled the cloth cover from the easel sitting at the center of the room, revealing a framed pencil sketch of a man with an angular face, full sideburns, and coarse hair drawn up into a topknot.

"Where have you managed to pull that from?" demanded General Sung, a cup of tea halfway to his lips. On further consideration, he continued, "Of course, you'll never answer that question, will you?"

"I must protect my sources at all costs," Rau reminded him.

This particular piece of intelligence had come from a low-profile informant, a portrait painter with a shop near the Fire Navy headquarters at Sunrise Bay. The more vain among the enemy officer corps would have their likeness taken by the informant's brush. Without their knowledge, she was sending all her preliminary sketches east, allowing Factfinding to put faces to names.

Rau plucked a scroll from the tray in his aide's arms and unrolled it. "Zhang Min, age thirty-seven. Born in the town of Jang Hui, graduated from the Royal Fire Military Academy twelve years ago. Assigned to the Southern Raiders for the first nine years of his service, he took part in the incursions against the Water Tribe, then spent two onshore, working on the command staff of a certain upperclassman of his by the name of Commander Zhao."

"He's one of Zhao's boys," General How remarked. "That explains much."

"Yes. When Zhao made admiral, Zhang Min was almost immediately handed command of the Eleventh Seaborne Group and granted what the enemy calls an 'independent mission' for a period of three years. What that means is he was permitted to operate without oversight for that duration of time, answerable only by report to the head office at Sunrise Bay.

"Five months ago, assumed his new command. A few days later, he departed the Fire Nation, and was never seen again. To my knowledge, he never told anyone where he intended to go. Last month, he failed to make a routine check-in at Hokien Harbor and was officially declared missing."

"They never searched for him?" General Sung asked.

"Oh, they tried for a few days. But then they remembered who he was apprentice to. After the disaster at the North Pole, they've been looking for someone to blame. Without Zhao available to castigate before the jeering masses, they've decided to take their frustrations out on all those who tied their careers to his. It makes Zhao himself look even worse in retrospect, to show that he surrounded himself with incompetents.

"A military tribunal was quickly assembled, and they ruled that Zhang Min had lost his bearings and plunged his force into a winter storm which had been earlier observed to be raging in the Northern Sea." Rau squinted at his scroll, adjusting his spectacles. "The court presumed him and his men dead, concluded that the blame lay solely with the force commander, and extended their deepest condolences to the affected families."

"But if he didn't enter that storm, where else could he be?" wondered Sung. "If, say, he wanted to defect to our side—rare, but not unheard of—wouldn't he already be in our grasp already?"

"As to his ultimate fate, I do not know. But it was no storm that stopped him from reporting back to his masters."

"Please, Rau," said How. "Will you deign to illuminate us with your knowledge, or were just planning to leave us in the dark?"

"Patience, General How." Rau wagged a finger at him in mock reproach. "I sent a man down to Chameleon Bay to ask Chief Hakoda if he ever had any encounters with an unattached Fire Navy seaborne group."

"And?"

"Four days after Zhang Min's departure, Hakoda had ordered for a couple of his sloops to be stationed off Gaoling, to monitor the Fire Navy activity centered around their base at Whaletail Island. They had just arrived at their post when his men observed three Conqueror-class troop landing ships crossing the enemy's routine patrol lines and continuing east in the direction of Kyoshi Island."

"Are you sure that who they saw was Zhang Min?"

"Things like these are never a certainty," replied Rau. "But how often do you see a landing group trawling around the seas without a fleet in tow?

"Concerned that they might be seeing the spearhead of a raid against Chameleon Bay, Hakoda's men moved south into a preparatory position to shadow the enemy force. But the three Fire Navy ships never reappeared. After a few hours, the tribesmen sailed northwest in an attempt to find them again, but the ships they had been tracking were gone. If the enemy had gone north,, east, or west, the tribesmen would have easily seen them, but they had seemingly disappeared without a trace."

"How about the weather?" one of the other generals asked. "Was there a storm raging off our southern coast?"

"The one thing the tribesmen insist upon is that it was completely clear in all directions that day. There were no apparent signs of a storm, and these men are quite good at detecting bad turns in the weather."

"They could've circled back to Whaletail," suggested How.

"Take my word for it, General. If he had secretly docked there, or indeed at any other port in the occupied territories, we'd know about it. The same goes if he had returned to Sunrise Bay." Rau shook his head. "I firmly believe that our allies were the last to glimpse Zhang Min before he was plunged into the unknown."

"So, where does that bring us?" General How thought for a moment, trying to recall the geography of the area. "Let's say Zhang decided to turn south, instead of continuing east. When the tribesmen had finally made their way back northwest, he would've had Kyoshi Island in between his force and theirs, which could explain why they never spotted him."

"But why go south?" challenged General Sung.. "Did he have it in his mind to tame the Kowa Archipelago? Or perhaps to pay another visit to the Southern Water Tribe, for old time's sake?"

"There is one other possibility," Rau said."He could've gone to Kyoshi Island. He could easily have concealed his ships upon landing, and the tribesmen would've been none the wiser"

Sung scoffed. "Kyoshi Island? What could he possibly want with the place? The Fire Navy have been combing those waters since the beginning and they haven't so much as pissed in that decrepit backwater's direction in a hundred years. What's changed?"

"Chief Hakoda's fleet has been growing more and more disruptive to their operations in the area as of late," observed Rau. "Perhaps they have need of an outpost further east of Whaletail to give him pause. But that is only surmise.

"Anyhow, I would have liked to investigate this matter further, but we seem to have come to the end of the line. My office has heard nothing out of Kyoshi Island for many years now, and I judge that putting the requisite source in place would bear more risk than the prospective results would justify."

Rau motioned to his aide, who began pulling away the easel bearing Zhang Min's portrait. Dropping his scroll back onto the tray, he picked up another and began to unravel it. "And now, for our next point of order..."

Ministry of War, Royal Caldera City, Fire Nation

1314 hours

War Minister Qin didn't anticipate the royal seal to be marking his correspondence, not so soon after he'd spoken with Ozai. The last time he had been summoned to the palace was just three days ago, and he had not been instructed to await written orders from on high. But the envelope had arrived all the same, bearing the emblem of blazing flame imprinted upon its red wax.

He slit the envelope open and frowned. Surely this couldn't have originated from the office of the Fire Lord. The letter was written on thin, plain paper, and the handwriting, while precise and neat, was unfamiliar to his eyes. Then he finished the short message and understood from whence it came.

Dear War Minister,

It was brought to my attention during a meeting of the war council that your ministry had almost completed work on a certain drilling device of substantial power. That meeting took place over a month ago, and I presume that project has already been finished during the intervening period.

You are directed to deliver the device to the headquarters of the Fire Army's Eastern Command within twelve days of this letter arriving in your hands, complete with all such supplementary equipment and personnel as required to allow its immediate operation.

Upon its arrival at the stated destination, I will direct the use of the device personally. After hearing many times of the merits of your project and of the great expense shouldered by the state to ensure that it was completed with all due care, I am fully convinced that this endeavor will conclude in a rousing success.

Yours,

Fire Princess Azula

Qin released the letter from his hand, letting it flutter to the floor. He slammed a fist against the tabletop, already feeling the origins of the severe migraine festering in his skull.

There was only one place such a demand like this belonged. That was in the trash heap, reduced to ashes and scattered amongst the refuse. If the letter had come from anyone else in the empire, he would've already committed the paper to the blaze.

At the meeting in question, Qin had made himself abundantly clear. While the Drill was nearly finished, it was, after all, destined to be sent into one of the most hostile environments of the entire war. Nothing less than the most stringent of trials would be required before high command could even consider deploying it.

Yet now, he was being told to abandon his diligent plans, before the first test run had even begun. The Princess had just ordered him to stake his long and distinguished career on an unproven piece of equipment fresh from the production line.

Qin's eyes settled on the pad of paper and quill in front of him. Perhaps he could write to the Fire Lord, plead for him to countermand his daughter's unreasonable demands. Maybe Ozai would see that risking an unrepeatable, massively-expensive project more than two years in the making on the Princess' mere whim was unwise.

Heaving a deep sigh, he pushed away the pen. He knew he was deceiving himself; further correspondence would be futile. Ozai would never take his side over the wishes of Azula, especially considering how long the Drill's completion had already been delayed. Patience was not a virtue the Fire Lord had inherited from his grandfather Sozin, and neither did he possess much tolerance for perceived insolence. If the man had seared the face of his own son, the exiled Crown Prince, for tarnishing the family's honor, only fate knew what he'd do to Qin.

There was little Qin could do, if he was to avoid becoming a charred corpse piled into an unmarked grave. If his untested Drill failed before the walls of Ba Sing Se, he would face total disgrace and the destruction of all he had worked for. But at least that was better than death.

So he would give the word, then, and the arduous, complex operation of transporting the enormous machine over the breadth of the Fire Nation and across an ocean would begin. If he was lucky, the delivery could just about be completed within the strained timeframe he had just been issued.

Soon, Qin was calling for his secretary to send the carriage around. His first stop would be home, to quickly rustle up a few changes of clothing and to make his excuses to the family. Then he would climb aboard the express train, bound north for Hu Leng Valley. This was a matter he would need to handle personally.

April 12th

Keum Village, Kyoshi Island

1733 hours

Suki drew a hand across her sweating brow, and her glove came away with white paint. Her afternoon had been very warm and taxing.

Like the previous nine days, today had solely been spent on battle drills, ranging from brief skirmishes between teams of four to sweeping maneuvers with all forty-five warriors moving in concert.

Carwell ran the exercises through every environment the island had to offer, and at his behest, they had captured the towering hills which commanded the pass, launched attacks over the rocky beach, waded the saltwater marshes of the island's south, and even held a mock firefight amidst the streets of Shen Town, dodging bemused residents as they wove in and out its stone buildings and narrow alleyways.

With the day's session concluded, the warriors slowly began to trickle into Keum Village under the setting sun. Suki was at the head of their loose column, and they trudged wearily through the arch which marked the settlement's boundary.

After training, the warriors were usually allowed to go their separate ways, but today Carwell had requested for them to gather in Keum Village. The change in routine was causing more than a few mutters up and down the line.

"Hey, Suki!" Rena broke into a jog to catch up to her leader. "I heard from a couple people back there. They think we're done."

"Done?"

"You know, finished. With Colonel Carwell's training course. We're about to receive our first orders."

"About time," grumbled Akiko. "We've been at this three months. Unless there's some arcane weaponry that he wants us to master or more fancy movements to learn, what else does he need to teach us? We're ready."

"Doesn't that mean we're..." Rena began, "...we could be deploying soon? What if they're gonna tell us to start packing our gear for combat?"

"I don't think so," replied Suki. "We haven't seen any signs that their troops are preparing for anything. If Bedford wanted to try something, you'd think he'd have Captain Ryan's company getting ready to go as well. The docks don't seem to be much more active than usual, either."

"Who says we're going campaigning?" said Akiko. "They might give us a quick, in-and-out mission. Maybe we'll launch a raid on a Fire Nation camp on the continent, or something like that."

Rena pointed ahead, and Suki followed her gaze. "Say, isn't that Colonel Bedford over there?"

Two men emerged from the shadow of Kyoshi's statue, evidently having waited for the warriors' arrival. One was Carwell, striding towards them with his clipboard under one arm. Close behind was the commander of the garrison himself.

"Warriors!" Suki called out. "Form ranks!"

The slack group immediately disintegrated in a flurry of movement, warriors rushing forward to fill up the gaps in the formation. Soon they had reshaped themselves into rectangular ranks, each five across and three deep. In front of the two colonels, they drew themselves up to full attention and stood proudly.

Carwell greeted them with a warm smile. "We have an important announcement to make. Today marks the conclusion of your training course. It's been a busy past few months of work, but they were not spent in vain. Welcome to the Allied Expeditionary Unit.

Bedford stepped forward. "You are the 1st Kyoshi Island Platoon, provisionally attached to Fox Company, 2nd Battalion. Effective tomorrow morning, you will be considered to be on active duty. Report to Captain Ryan for orders.

"The details of any further deployments will be passed to your commander when relevant. Until then, you will effectively be serving as Fox's fourth platoon, and will follow its chain of command accordingly. Now, if there are no questions, consider yourselves dismissed."

As Bedford strode off into the deepening dusk, the warriors' disciplined ranks broke apart, still muttering discontentedly amongst themselves while they began scattering to all directions. They would be back by morning.

Keum's square gradually emptied out as the night crept in, and the villagers withdrew to their homes in preparation for supper. The lingering Expeditionary soldiers also began to filter away, anxious to return to their barracks for the meal and change of watch. But as Suki turned to leave, she noticed the glow of a single blazing ember by the base of Kyoshi's statue. Carwell hadn't yet departed.

"Suki?" he asked, and the sharp odor of otherworldly tobacco met her nostrils. "One moment, please."

"What can I do for you, Colonel?"

When she had drawn closer, Carwell's voice dropped to a whisper. "If you would just accompany me to the command post, we would like a word."

"Wait, is there something wrong? Am I in trouble?"

"No, nothing like that. But it's an important matter, and it would be best to discuss it in private." The soft, oddly-accented geniality never once left his voice, but Suki knew that it wasn't a request.

The stroll through the village center was a short one, and soon she and Carwell were climbing up into the hut which doubled as his and Bedford's communal office. He slid back the door, stepping aside to usher her into the darkened room.

"Good evening, Commander." Bedford gave her a polite nod as he bent down to light a metal lantern. "Looks like we're all complete. Have a seat, anywhere you like."

Suki's eyes darted around the room. To her surprise, she, Carwell, and Bedford weren't the only ones in the hut. Perched together at the edge of one of the colonels' cots were Akiko and an anxious-looking Rena, still carrying her rifle from the exercise.

Bedford finished his task, setting the flickering lantern on his desk. He drew himself up to his full height for a brief moment, silently surveying the three warriors before him, then eased down into his own chair.

"We've gathered the three of you here to make an offer," he began. "You will have the option to accept or decline, so long as everything we tell you stays in this room. Now, please attend to what we have to say.

"When I said that the Kyoshi Warriors would make a difference, I was telling the truth. In four months' time, the platoon will land at the gates of the Fire Nation's capital. They will be among those assigned to capture the city, entrusted with storming Ozai's palace and tearing down his flag.

"But you three have an opportunity to play an even greater role in ending this war. Your contribution could count for more than any thousand soldiers."

"How?" The word suddenly slipped out of Rena, and she clamped a hand over her mouth for speaking out of turn.

Bedford didn't seem to mind the interruption. "By assassinating the Fire Lord and his daughter, the presumptive Crown Princess."

"You want us to do...what?" Suki sputtered, glancing towards her fellow warriors to see if they were hearing the same thing she was. Rena's eyes were wide with shock, and even Akiko gaped at Bedford's words.

"I've been observing the members of your unit closely since the beginning of the training course," said Carwell. "You three are the best suited to this mission."

"Colonel Carwell, I still don't understand how you want us to pull this off. Ozai has to be the most well-guarded man in the four nations. As good as our weapons are, we'll never be able to get to him."

"Tell me, Suki. What are those guards looking out for? A rogue firebender on the rooftop, or maybe an agent of the Earth Kingdom lurking in the crowd. They're trained to deal with concealed blades and crossbows, bomb-throwers and archers. But they'll never find a rifle team waiting four hundred yards away, because they don't know to check for one."

"And that rifle team..." Rena began.

"Under my personal command. You, Suki, and Akiko are its other members, so long as you accept this offer. Make no mistake, this is a delicate and dangerous mission. We'll be infiltrating deep into enemy territory, isolated from the rest of our forces. If something goes wrong, we may well be on our own.

"If you decide to turn us down, we'll respect your decision. It will not be held against you in any way. This mission requires willing, dedicated volunteers."

"What happens if we do accept?" Akiko asked. "Are we setting off immediately, or are there still more preparations to be made?"

"You'll be going through two months of additional training, with me properly participating this time," replied Carwell. "Once that's completed, all we have to wait for is the go-ahead order."

"We don't need an answer right now," Bedford said. "Take a day or two and think it over. But once you give us your word, whether it's yes or no, it must be final. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Suki, Rena, and Akiko murmured together.

"That's the matter we needed to discuss with you tonight. I suggest you sleep on it." Bedford motioned towards the door, and the three warriors took it as their cue to begin filing out of the hut. "Have a good night's rest, soldiers."

April 13th

Laghima Island

0957 hours

The last time German soldiers had laid down their weapons at Major Borowski's feet was on the outskirts of a little town called Ludwigslust, just north of the Elbe. On that day, he had been faced by thousands upon thousands of men in their green-gray uniforms, desperate to surrender before the Russians closed in from their opposite flank.

Once again, there were neatly-stacked Mauser rifles piled before him, but now there were only enough to equip a single squad. And far from disarming the Germans, his job today involved handing them access to even more weaponry.

Borowski was a quarter of a mile west of the airfield, standing on the periphery of the bulldozed firing range. A ten-man squad of the now-defunct Wehrmacht were positioned perpendicular to him along the firing line, with two American sergeants and a translator in their midst to demonstrate the finer points of operating their newly-issued small arms.

The Germans would have been more than happy to retain the weapons which had helped them to survive the war, but with only a handful of clips and the occasional belt of machine gun rounds available to each man, they simply didn't have enough compatible ammunition on hand for it to be a viable option. Reluctantly, they handed in their guns and were rearmed with American stock, with which they were currently familiarizing themselves.

Once he saw that the Germans were locked and loaded, Borowski clamped his hands over his ears, drawing an amused glance from Major General von Weiss, who was also attending the demonstration with his circle of adjutants. Though used to the sound of gunfire, he figured that there was no need to deafen himself any further than was necessary.

Sitting downrange was a Morris truck, one which had completely broken down a month previously. After being drained of its gasoline and stripped for spare parts, the empty shell had been towed over from the motor pool to be used as target practice.

If there was any chance of putting the vehicle back in working order, it evaporated in a fraction of a second. Concentrated semi- and automatic fire ripped through the husk from tailpipe to hood, leaving shards of glass and iron scattered across the bare plain. Anyone inside, behind, or within a ten-foot radius of the truck would've been dead several times over.

Rifle still in hand, the squad's sergeant marched off the firing line, and Borowski marvelled at how strange it was to see a Kraut with an M1. He put up a stiff salute to von Weiss—a traditional one, rather than the straight-armed variety of the newsreels and training films—and gave his report to his superior. Their conversation was a short, technical one, as far as Borowski could glean from the odd word he was able to pick out, and it ended with the sergeant trudging away again.

"General, what did he say?" Borowski asked von Weiss as the sergeant gathered his men and led them off the range.

"Feldwebel Kranz had a few remarks to make about your American weaponry, Major. He is quite satisfied with the M1 rifle. During the war, those men mostly carried bolt-actions. Accurate and powerful, yes, but slow. Now, the individual riflemen are able to to put up a much-increased volume of fire, thanks to their new semi-automatic weapons. A welcome change."

"Well, that's good to hear."

"Kranz, however, was less impressed with the issued light machine gun. He finds the M1919 cumbersome and slow-firing."

Borowski suspected as much, and he already had his answer in mind. "The 'Nineteen's not a squad weapon, General. They're usually used for support at platoon level. Most our squads have a designated BAR each."

"He wasn't very complimentary about the Browning, either. He deems twenty rounds at a time unsuitable for...our word to describe it is feuerschutz." von Weiss' eyes narrowed in thought. "At the moment, the American term eludes me."

"Suppressive fire?" Borowski suggested.

"Yes, that's the one. You see, he's accustomed to the MG-42. It was a glutton for ammunition, but you know just as much as I do how well it worked at rendering the enemy unable to fight back."

"General, I don't think there's any way around it. Either your people use our weapons, or you'll be throwing rocks at the FN thirty minutes after landing."

"I understand that, Major, and so do my men. I simply asked Feldwebel Kranz for an honest opinion, and he gave me one." He sighed, fishing into the pocket of his uniform for his pipe. "We have fought in our own way, with our own equipment and tactics, for more than five years. An afternoon of practice is not enough to break those habits. We must adapt. Is there anyone in your battalion who is an expert in American squad and platoon doctrine?"

"First Sergeant Webb of Dog Company led a squad in Holland and Belgium, then was a platoon sergeant for the rest of it," replied Borowski. "But if it's pure theory you want, Lieutenant Van Hout was fresh out of OCS when we got here. He can probably regurgitate the whole manual right back at you. What gives?"

"With your approval, I would like them to brief my own officers. I don't expect us to fully adopt American tactics, but maybe the company commanders can come up with an arrangement which maximises our effectiveness without needing to abandon what we already know."

"I'll look into it, General. Fair bit of warning, though. Webb and Van Hout don't speak a word of German, and I'm not sure I trust our own interpreters to get the complete message across. I don't want anything crucial lost in translation."

"Schatz, the intelligence man, will be translating for the rest. His English is as good as his German." von Weiss frowned as the rest of Borowski's statement registered. "Wait, you mean to say that don't have faith in your linguists?"

"All of the battalion's naturally fluent German speakers went home after the war. The ones we have right now can make themselves understood just fine, but they're inexperienced. As far as I gather, they don't have a grasp of the subtleties yet."

"This problem must be rectified, or we could be facing severe problems when we're deployed. Miscommunication could be lethal out in the field."

"Yeah, General, I thought so too. How about we pool our interpreters?"

"Pool? You mean to put them together?"

"Exactly. I've got six...no, seven men who have some working knowledge of German. How many English speakers do you have?"

"Excluding officers, twelve. Fifteen if you count battalion staff."

"Over the preparation period, we'll have them work together, drill together, take meals together, you name it. We'll encourage them to converse in both languages. Sooner or later, my men should be pretty fluent, and so will yours. These are the people we'll be using to go between our two forces. Maybe it'll minimize communications problems."

"Ah, I see what you're getting at." von Weiss nodded to an adjutant, who jotted down notes on a pad. "A good idea, Major. When do you want to start this program?"

"I'll gather the men on my side and tell them tomorrow. If you'll do the same for yours, General, we can begin in a couple of days."

Sunrise Bay, Fire Nation

1058 hours

The sheer scale of the task would've amazed Minister Qin, had he not been so deprived of rest. In the week since his receipt of the princess' letter, he had not gotten much more than sixteen hours of sleep in total. Even the copious amounts of tea he had forced down could only do so much to keep him up and about.

Much to the consternation of the admiralty, Qin had just made arrangements to bog down the busiest harbor in the world, stranding not an insignificant portion of the Fire Lord's grand fleet at anchor for a full day due to congestion of the railroad supply line and the reallocation of dock crew to deal with the unique logistical issue. He would placate the navy in due time, when his neck was no longer on the line and he could return to his ministerial duties instead of acting as a glorified quartermaster.

Slumped wearily on a bench, Qin willed himself to focus on the laboring throngs of dockworkers. He had several of his own officials down at the scene for more direct supervision, but if something went wrong now, it would be laid at his door.

Fortunately, the Drill was designed with delivery by sea in mind, if not at such short notice. Its body, a third of a mile long and seventy feet tall, could be segmented into three equal sections, allowing each individual part to be rolled into its own Seinaka-class conveyor, the largest transport the Fire Navy had on offer.

Loading was a laborious process. Each section had its own set of engines for propulsion, but they were only running at the lowest possible power setting. It was being done not just as a safety measure, but also to minimize weight. Any faster, and it would necessitate more coal and personnel inside to operate it. Shifting ten thousand tons of steel at a time was already quite enough.

The Drill's section groaned forward at a fraction of a mile an hour, lumbering inch by inch into the belly of the cavernous transport. The great ship shuddered under the sheer weight, bobbing up and down in the ocean as if it were child's plaything in a bathtub. Dockworkers followed in lockstep, mere ants against the side of the colossal war machine.

Finally, the section completely disappeared into the ship. The black plume of smoke belching from its towering stack abated, and the conveyor's enormous cargo door was winched shut with a resounding metallic clang which grated Qin, despite sitting a few hundred feet away.

The conveyor lifted anchor, preparing to steam out to the mouth of Sunrise Bay and its more open waters to await the rest of the fleet. One completed, two more to come.

By now, the messenger hawk was already in the air, bearing the orders to the commander of the second transport for him to take his ship inshore and receive his own consignment. Perhaps they could be finished before sundown, so long as the rest proceeded as smoothly as the first had.

Of course, the travelling party wouldn't only be comprised of the three conveyors bearing the pieces of the Drill. The Seinaka class was a little more than a floating steel bowl on an enormous scale, designed to carry vast amounts of equipment across the sea under heavy escort, not to fight other ships. Though the threat of enemy naval action was low, Qin was unwilling to take any risks. If the princess was leaning on him to accomplish the task under such a tight schedule, then he might as well use the royal authority for something.

With some pressure, he had managed to convince the Northern Naval Authority to assign him the Empire-class battleship Hei-Ran, one of the shining jewels in the Fire Navy's crown. Also coming along were two cruisers, Mainka and Shu Jing, and two troopships to carry the crewmen of the Drill who were unable to squeeze aboard the conveyors. In addition, once they had crossed the Central Ocean, there were a host of smaller craft standing by to safeguard their journey up the Su Oku River all the way to the headquarters of the Army's Eastern Command, just outside Ba Sing Se.

As the second conveyor coasted into the harbor and the workers on the dock prepared themselves to begin the process anew, Qin fought off the clutches of exhaustion. Once they were underway, he would allow himself to get some sleep. For now, however, he at least owed the job his attention.

Kyoshi Island

1231 hours

"Again!"

A hunk of earth sprung up from the ground, leaving a watermelon-sized crater in the ground where it had been torn from. For the briefest of moments it was frozen in midair, suspended by some invisible power, then the Avatar's fist drove forward in a sharp, incisive strike.

The rock streaked away, a brown-gray blur flying straight and true to the target. With the crunch of buckling metal, the gray Fire Nation breastplate crumpled inwards, toppling from its earthbent plinth. It slid to a stop on the same valley floor where it had been recovered from in December.

"You call that earthbending, Twinkletoes? It would've been easier if you just picked that pebble up and threw it! We're going to do this for as long as it takes—wait, what do you mean that's the last piece of armor?"

"Miss Beifong," explained Bedford, "you and the Avatar have already destroyed twenty of them. We still need some left over for our intelligence people to take a look at."

"Fine," Toph spat. "We'll pick this back up when we're on the road. Maybe you need a change of scenery, because you just seem too comfortable here."

Aang tore away his blindfold and threw it down, grinding the orange strip of cloth into the dust with his heel. "I don't get it! I've done all the forms and I've copied all your stances perfectly! There's nothing else I can do!"

"For someone with such a weak mind, you sure have got a real thick skull. You won't get anywhere unless you actually face the problem."

"I am facing the problem! What do you think I've been doing since the crack of dawn?"

"Wasting my time! And if you haven't figured this out by the time we reach Ba Sing Se, you're going to need a new teacher! So get your act together, or I'm striking out on my own!"

Growling in frustration, the earthbender stormed off, the dirt beneath her bare feet cracking under every step. The Avatar watched her departure in morose silence, then dabbed at the beads of sweat running down his bare scalp with his sleeve. In an apparent attempt to compose himself, he heaved a deep sigh.

"Tell me, Avatar," said Bedford. With the show over, he rose to his feet and dusted off the seat of his pants. "Can you tell me what your instructor is taking issue with? Your earthbending seems fine to me."

"I can only bend small bits of earth at a time. You saw me with those rocks earlier, right? I can't move anything bigger than that. I've tried everything to fix that, but nothing's working for me."

"We can push the departure back a week if you need more time to practice," Bedford suggested.

"No, Colonel." Aang shook his head vehemently. "We'll just make a few stops for practice on the way there. Toph might be right, you know. Maybe I'll learn better somewhere else. Anyway, Sokka says that Ba Sing Se's probably our best bet to find a friendly firebending master, and I should probably get started on that as soon as I can."

"So we leave tomorrow morning, then. Might as well have breakfast first. I'll make sure to pack a couple more days' worth of provisions to accommodate our planned stopovers."

"Tomorrow," Aang confirmed. "We'll be ready."

Laghima Island

1923 hours

"Good evening, gentlemen," said Captain Di Santo. "There's no use beating around the bush. New intelligence gathered this morning by aerial recon has uncovered an alarming matter, one which made calling this emergency meeting necessary. Please turn your attention to the photographs we are about to present."

The three other men of the base intelligence arm circled the command table, carefully laying out rows of film fresh from the developing rack, each picture numbered in permanent marker. At the head of the table, Brigadier Swales examined the one closest to him with a thoughtful frown.

"At approximately 1100 hours, Bird Dog Five made a routine sweep over the Fire Navy headquarters at Sunrise Bay, here." Di Santo indicated a location on the world map tacked to the wall. "Photographs one through thirteen show what the crewmen saw being loaded at the docks."

"And what is this?" Wing Commander Bassett squinted at the photo in front of him. "Some sort of U-boat?"

"That, Wing Commander, is a tunnel boring machine. Or, more correctly, one portion of an enormous tunnel boring machine. I don't mean 'enormous' lightly, either. As far as we can figure, the thing is over five hundred meters long and more than twenty tall. For comparison, Lieutenant Carson over here tells me that it's nearly twice as long as the Titanic and just under half the height. Probably needs a whole brigade's worth of crew to run it."

"Jesus, it's that big?" sputtered Captain Henning.

"The machine is so large that they need to split it into three portions for transportation. In photo eleven, we see the first piece being loaded aboard a cargo ship . Notice the two other transports anchored further out in the harbor, waiting their turn to load up.

"Now, there's no doubt at all where the FN plan to use this device. There's only one place in the world where something this extravagant would be practical: Ba Sing Se. They're planning to either drill through or tunnel under the city's walls."

"And this will give them the capacity to do so successfully?" von Weiss asked.

"We can't speak as to the design, General. Nobody on this island has the technical expertise to evaluate it. But if you were to force me to make a judgement, I'd say that it can breach the wall. Barring mechanical problems, it's probable that the machine has the heft and power to punch straight through, given enough time. The Fire Nation are certainly confident about its capabilities, that's for sure. We have heavy indications that a concerted operation to capture Ba Sing Se is about to commence."

Swales' eyebrows went up. "Oh?"

"The FN have a major encampment here." Di Santo rapped a knuckle on the map, selecting a point deep in the northern Earth Kingdom. "It's a large semi-permanent base on the near bank of the Chou River, a tributary of the Su Oku, about twenty miles west of Ba Sing Se's outer walls. About a corps' worth of troops are garrisoned there, between two and three army divisions. My guess is that it was deliberately situated to use the Chou as a natural barrier against Earth Kingdom counterattack. Because of that, it's probably the safest place to live in the whole TO, except for Ba Sing Se itself.

"Admittedly, we haven't committed many resources to watch the base. In November, a Bird Dog flight on a mapping sortie took a few photos, and we got another look at it in March. The results are in pictures fourteen through twenty-two. In both instances, the base was at a relatively idle footing. We've got three divisions garrisoned there in relative comfort, while their countrymen to the south and north march into the meatgrinder on a daily basis.

"But today was different. Bird Dog Eight overflew the site at 1400 hours." He raised a photograph in each hand for all to see. Men marching in neat columns, armored vehicles rolling tread to tread, scores of cavalry stretched out across the span of a pontoon bridge. "Three FN divisions have abandoned the camp and are rapidly advancing east towards Ba Sing Se. Add the fact that a tunneling machine tailor-made to breach the city walls is currently crossing the ocean, and we can safely assume that enemy offensive operations against the capital are imminent."

"Captain," von Weiss began, "what do we know of Earth Kingdom troop dispositions in the region? Do they have sufficient numbers to defend their capital?"

"Again, we have limited up-to-date information on that. Six months ago, the FN units in the area outnumbered them by three divisions to two, but that ratio may be less favorable now. In February, the Fire Nation ramped up its southwestern campaign, and the Earth Kingdom responded by funneling more troops into the area. We don't know where those extra men came from. It could be that EK leadership pulled some resources away from Ba Sing Se, which had been a dormant front back then, to reinforce the south."

"How likely do you believe that to be?"

"Pretty likely, General. The EK doesn't have much of a strategic reserve to draw from besides Ba Sing Se, which can always be held against a far larger force. If I were the leadership, I'd gamble on the walls to delay an assault long enough for the committed troops to be recalled. Usually, that would be a viable strategy. But not when the FN have equipment which can get them through in a matter of hours rather than months.

"Even a breach of just the outer ramparts would spell devastation. Once the Fire Nation maneuver through the gap, they can use their mobility to sweep across the farmlands which supply the city with food. Once they occupy the fields, it's all over for Ba Sing Se. They don't need to move an inch further, just hold what they have and wait for the city to starve."

"The Earth Kingdom won't surrender. Not now, after a hundred years of war. They will go on to the bitter end." von Weiss was visibly disturbed, his light blue eyes staring into the past. "I have witnessed a city like this at siege before. Even a sack and all the abominable acts accompanying it would be a greater mercy. We cannot let this happen."

"I think everyone here can agree," said Swales. "If Ba Sing Se falls, the only current organized resistance to the Fire Nation ends. Our job will only be more difficult. The issue here is finding a course of action that can be executed with what resources we can spare. Options?"

"Martin, how much aircraft ordnance can we scrape together?" Bassett asked, hurriedly working out calculations on a sheet of paper. "If you give me...bear with me for a second...four tons of bombs and two of rockets, my lads can sort this one out."

"I've got the numbers here..." Swales rifled through the mound of folders piled beside him. "Nineteen general-purpose bombs in reserve, nearly five tons, but only half a ton of rockets left over. The majority of our RP-3 stocks are earmarked for Sunrise Bay."

"Christ. Half a ton is what, a dozen rockets? Do we have to dig into our allocations for our air campaign to get more?"

"I'm afraid so." Swales squinted at another file, running a finger down the list. "I can just about squeeze out another ton and a half if we make a couple of sacrifices. I won't dare cut down on the ordnance for Sunrise Bay, but if we draw from the supply designated for the strikes on the divisional headquarters on the Lai Hao and the Taeju marshalling yard, that'll give us enough for this mission."

Bassett nodded determinedly. "We'll take it."

"Won't that affect the ground campaign?" Major Borowski challenged. "You flyboys promised that you'd give those FN facilities a good pasting before they had the chance to fight our infantry, but now you're reallocating the resources elsewhere. I don't like how that sounds."

"Oh, they'll get hit hard enough, Major," Swales reassured him. "Losing a rocket or two is hardly ideal for the pilots assigned to those targets, but so long as they do their duties diligently, what they'll hit will be just as dead. Additional firepower is simply insurance."

There was still suspicion on Borowski's face as he settled back into his seat, but he shrugged it off. Behind him, Di Santo's team slowly began to pack away their things, reaching across to gather the photographs from the tabletop. The briefing was over.

"It's settled, then. I'll make the arrangements immediately." Bassett was on his feet, long fingers drumming a constant beat against his hip. Now that this was all for real, his old confidence seemed to have crept away, giving way to nervous energy. "67 Fighter is returning to war."

2103 hours

That familiar buzz was in the air tonight, the infectious jumble of anticipation and nerve which boiled in the gut of even the most experienced among them. Flight Lieutenant Mackenzie had almost forgotten the sensation. Not since the dying days of the last war had it burned within him. Even the quick winter sortie to Kyoshi Island four months ago had failed to replicate it. That had been an unexpected scramble, over and done with before the magnitude of entering his second war even had the chance to register.

But now, every one of the fifteen fighter pilots crammed shoulder to shoulder in the tight confines of the Nissen hut knew they were in for a big mission. Word had spread rapidly of the senior officers' emergency meeting, and some of the rumors making the rounds were instantly proven by their urgent summons to the office of the No. 629 Squadron commander.

Mackenzie cast an eye around the room. Though there was a squadron's worth of airmen present, they represented two halves of separate units under umbrella of 67 Fighter. Eight of the men present, including Sutton, Russell, and Farmer from his own flight of four, were members of No. 367 Squadron, ordered to report here by their own superior. The other seven were from No. 629, waiting for one more of their own to complete the group.

The corrugated iron door creaked open. Mackenzie jumped to attention, soon followed by the others. A pale, hawkish man bearing an attache case pushed his way in, and the pilots parted, crowding against the walls to give him room to pass to the front.

"Evening, boys," greeted Squadron Leader Jakob Patryk, dropping his bag onto his desk. Six years with the Royal Air Force had dulled his accent somewhat, but it was still perceptible.

Mackenzie had barely ever interacted with the man before, but he was a frequent topic of discussion for months now. Patryk was a Pole, one of the many refugee servicemen who had joined the British armed forces after the fall of their homeland. He'd been allowed to stay on with the RAF after V-E Day, and with No. 629's previous commander having been kicked upstairs before the wing's move to Norden, Patryk had been appointed as a replacement.

"I have just received orders from Wing Commander Bassett. We are to launch a strike at dawn. The sixteen of us here will go, eight Typhoons and eight Hurricanes." Patryk snapped open the briefcase, coming out with a stack of reconnaissance photographs. "The targets are naval ones. Three enemy cargo ships, pictured here. They are carrying the disassembled parts of a large drilling machine, intended to be used in an assault against the Earth Kingdom capital. We're tasked with sinking them before they reach their destination.

"Study these photos carefully and make sure to remember the ships' appearance. Intelligence says that they will be travelling in a convoy with five others, and we cannot afford to waste ordnance."

Mackenzie studied the picture issued to him. The Fire Navy transport in question didn't look all that dissimilar to one of those American LSTs. Both were bulbous in shape, riding high in the water, and they essentially served the same function. The main difference lay in size. It was double the length of the American one and had twice its beam. The main deck was also dissimilar, a flat steel expanse interrupted only by three smokestacks and the structure of the bridge, free from the clutter of radar masts, point-defense turrets, or radio equipment.

Finished with examining the photographs, one of the Typhoon pilots raised a hand.

"Yes, Galloway?"

"Do we have an idea of the other ships in their convoy, sir?"

"According to intelligence, they're also sending along a dreadnought, two battle cruisers, and two landing ships, similar in type to the ones 367 Squadron encountered at Kyoshi Island. They will be armed with catapults, crossbow artillery, and firebenders. If all goes well, we won't touch them and they won't touch us.

"Now, here is tomorrow's plan. As you may have noticed, joining us are two flights of Hurricanes from 367, led by Lieutenants Mackenzie and Saunders. They will bring the bombs, and we will carry six each of the sixty-pounder rockets. We fly in two sections, four Hurricanes and four Typhoons in each. I will lead one, and Flight Lieutenant Duncan the other. Mackenzie and his aircraft come with me, Saunders goes with Duncan.

"A recon sortie will be sent ahead of us to confirm the exact location of the enemy convoy. Onboard will be Wing Commander Bassett, who's joining in this mission as an observer. Once their fleet is located, they'll radio in the precise coordinates. We will then sweep in and execute our mission.

"Each section will select one transport—only one—and unleash all possible firepower on it in a single pass. Ignore everything else, unless it is an immediate threat to your safety. Our aim is to sink both of the ones we target. The Typhoons will make the first pass, coming in low and fast with rockets and cannon to cut a path through their defenses. Once we are clear, Saunders and Mackenzie's aircraft will follow in behind with bombs to finish the job.

"I want us to strike with surprise, speed, and accuracy. Make sure every hit we land is a hard one. We should be gone before they realize that they are under attack. Questions?"

"No, Squadron Leader," said Mackenzie. None of the others disagreed with him.

"Good. Now, return to your quarters. I need you properly rested." Patryk cracked a grin. "Keep in mind, though, if you're not on the flight line at daybreak, we're leaving without you. Good luck, and I'll see you in the air."

Author's Notes:

I've scaled down The Drill's size from the estimates on the Avatar Wiki, which claim that it's over a mile (about 1.6km) long. That's just too crazy and impractically large even for the Fire Nation, and would cause all sorts of ground pressure problems even if you did manage to transport it from the factory to Ba Sing Se. I doubt that the creators really intended it to be a mile in length anyway, as overhead shots suggest something far shorter.

So, yeah. No "Bitter Work" and no face-off against the moose monster means Aang's earthbending is not where it should be. Hopefully it'll improve when they leave the safety of Kyoshi Island and hit the road.

I'm pretty sure my depiction of the planning behind the air strike is a gross oversimplification of the process, but a) I'm not really all that knowledgeable in that department and b) I'm trying my best to cut down on repetition, so I found it best to condense the scene.

Finally, the character of Jakob Patryk doesn't belong to me. He originally appeared in the Steven Universe fic "Pearl in WWII" by pinheadh78. It's available on both FFN and AO3, and I highly recommend you check it out if you haven't already.

It'll take quite a while, but I am determined to see this project through. I'd like to thank you for your patience. See you next time.