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"The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all it's contents."

-Howard Phillips Lovecraft

Chapter 16: The Premonition

The East End of London had seen worse days. But that wasn't to say that things were the best that they had been either. The East End has had a reputation of being the rough part of town during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and the frequent victim of the Luftwaffe during the Blitz, but it seemed on the up and up for decades, only to stagnate. While the tenements and filth of the turn of the century were lacking, the place was still known to house people that were less well off than other Londoners, unable to move even with the threat of attack from the sea.

It was onto these streets that a man walking with his partner was born and raised. A cockney through and through, he had seen so much change in the home that he had once loved, but not anymore, he served another purpose. An enlightened one, one that in spite of the risk of damnation, could very well end up being his and humanity's salvation. He believed in the cause, would fight for it, die for it, kill for it, and even mutilate for it. So far, he's done three of those four. He looked over to his partner to ask his opinion, "Hey Frankie. You think the bosses gonna get us on the move or they's gonna keep us on watch?"

His partner responded in an accent that showed just how far from home he was, which if it meant anything, meant East Yorkshire, far to the north from London. He said, "I don't know, Albert. Normally, I'd say that we're gonna stay on watch. But something tells me to be ready for anything. I mean, you've heard what I heard, the boss's boss told us to keep an eye open for the yanks that fucked up the chances of ever rebuilding our branch in Miami. I'd reckon that's worth moving."

They dared not delve into more detail on their "organization's" dealings in the open air. What with how London was nowadays, the streets had ears and were actively trying to report you to the Metropolitan Police. Secrecy was their biggest ally, and the police poking around was a good way to have things go pear shaped. The Cockney named, "Albert," and his Yorkie partner, "Frankie," would walk and then ride motorcycles until they arrived at their holy house in Whitechapel. It was with no small amount of humor, or irony, that the "holy house" was in what was once the playground of Jack the Ripper.

Frankie and Albert went down an alley to enter the side door of a nondescript building. They saw a man in what would normally be considered casual attire, but that did nothing to hide his hideous visage of symbolic self-inflicted scars and a few ceremonious tattoos. He was armed with an assault rifle. The man muttered in gibberish with only a word in English appended on occasion, as if such sensibility was an afterthought. The "enlightened" man served to remind Albert why he and Frankie are one of the few from the branch allowed out and about, because even though the Cockney and the Yorkie looked haggard, they were passable as laborers at best and vagrants at worst. Frankie asked, "Is the priest open? We have good news for him."

The crazy man gave a smile that showed rotting teeth. He pointed toward a staircase that would lead them to the attic. The two men ascended the stairs to hear the usual sound of wet sobbing and the squelching entry of a knife into flesh. An incoherent chanting followed that would allow one of their brethren to gain more insight and power at the cost of a prophet's blood spilled in sacrifice. It would give them insight into their long-term goal and the power to reach it. What was this goal? Frankie and Albert didn't know much beyond salvation from beyond, but they could feel it's truth. They knew that their faith was good and that it was poised to get better. Unsightly as it was, they would be the heroes in the end. They waited patiently for the ritual to end outside the attic door.

It finished, and they entered to address the priest in the blood-stained robe, who was perched over the ritualistically mutilated and then murdered prophet that had seen one of their gods and lived. Albert reported, "We found the Despoiler. He's in London."

"The Magician has appeared," affirmed Frankie.

The priest smiled and began to cackle maniacally. This was good news indeed. Now all they had to do was pass this information onto the proper authorities which would then pass onto the Sirens: their means of salvation and their biggest enemy.

The message was encrypted then sent. But not far away in the Pool of London, Nashville's huff-duff went off and she intercepted a message that was unique from all the city's radio traffic.

XXXXXXXX

That message would arrive to the communications outpost of the Siren's North Atlantic Command. A Strategist had been decided upon to be the successor when Purifier had failed. Right now, Strategist had a mighty debacle. She agreed with Observer Alpha that the Magician had to be taken care of sooner rather than later, but then their opinions diverged. Observer was content to do as her namesake would suggest and watch as a bunch of raving lunatics—that are only faking loyalty to the Sirens—kill the one who was threatening to become a bigger and bigger problem as time went on. Not to mention, for the extent that Strategist trusted the Heralds of the Deep she couldn't even count on them giving accurate information. So, who knew if they were correct, or even truthful?

What she wanted was to take the death of the Magician into her own hands. But this came with big risk to herself. Strategist could easily foretell an outcome in which she meets much the same end as the Purifier before her if what she wants to do doesn't come to fruition. She considered her options. Inaction was instantly thrown out. She could launch an all-out assault on London, hoping to draw the Magician out, and annihilate him. If what the algorithm predicted was true, removing the Magician was worth losing fleets of ships. She could also with relative ease, send at least two guardians to flatten the city, but there isn't a guarantee that he'd die. She could even muster a third, if she could persuade Observer. And even then, she'd expose the guardian's existence to the world at large, which is an act that has been forbidden.

But ultimately Strategist was limited by not knowing. She had to find the Magician and make certain that it is him. The Sirens don't know what his face looks like, but they know what he sounded like and what his vessel, Nashville, looks like. If they find her, they find him, and when they find him Strategist can move on with killing the annoyance. And results would save her neck from Observer's wrath.

She began her plan from the end. Say they find him and confirm who he is. This information would no doubt prove useful. They need to draw him out. Now for this Strategist had to admit, the humans were wise in the art of war. She knew what Sun Tzu had said, "Know thy enemy." But she didn't, so she'd have to anticipate. Is the Magician cautious or is he gung-ho? Will he gather his forces, or will he charge alone? She could charge up the Thames with her own fleet and suffer greatly from the local forces all the while nullifying any advantage Nashville is known to have. Or they could annihilate the forces at the mouth of the river and lay a trap for the Magician as he is crawling out of his hole.

Strategist had a feeling that the Magician wasn't above charging alone. With Nashville's known speed of thirty-two knots, they would end up outrunning any heavy support that would accompany them. And that would make it nigh impossible for the heavier capital ship girls to bring their guns to bare effectively while she is stripping his flesh from his bones. Strategist would lay a trap at the mouth of the river, anticipating that Nashville will rush out alone even in the face of incredible odds. To assure this, Strategist will send a false radio message to the Royal Navy Ship Girls with orders to hold position. Strategist grinned wickedly. She could see it. The Magician charges in anger while the Royals beg him to wait.

Now she just had to find and confirm that it is him. What was at her direct disposal? Not much options to be honest. One thing that the humans were pretty good at was apprehending Siren agents. So, that meant that they had to rely on signals intelligence most of the time, but the Magician was famous for having a light footprint. Waiting for a signal would take too long. She had to move now. That left only one option. The Knight Guardian could cast an illusion on itself to slip into London. And she could get it there within the day. Strategist's grin grew even wider. Yes. The Knight Guardian will do just fine in finding the Magician. Victory was guaranteed. Or so she thought.

Meanwhile, Queen Elizabeth was assembling a fleet to leave Devonport to patrol the English Channel. This was a routine occurrence that would have a very un-routine outcome in a few days. A collision course had been set. Whatever was to occur would definitely be an encounter for the history books.

XXXXXXXX

The car ride with Sub-Lieutenant Talbot was very pleasant to Nashville. Talbot himself didn't speak and she wasn't complaining. But what she was loving was to view of the city while she looked out the window. She was able to recognize Big Ben easily and the London Eye was just on the other side of the Thames. But her sightseeing ended when she felt her huff-duff go off on a frequency that was in the range of military frequencies from a direction that she wasn't expecting relative to her hull. North? There wasn't any military to the north, according to her knowledge and Hood's explanation that the military congregated to the river. And it wasn't far to the north either. It had to still be within the city. She waited for the message to be intercepted. Las Vegas had explained to her with examples that the Sirens had a distinct way of formatting their messages but this one that just came in followed no known format that she knew of. It wasn't Siren and it wasn't Azur Lane. She'd have to pass this to her commander. But without anyone overhearing. She got a bad feeling about all this. Worry must have showed on her face because he tapped her shoulder. With a gesture he asked if she was okay. "Later," she replied. He nodded.

They didn't have to wait much longer before Talbot pulled the car in front of a large building with a group of Union Jacks fluttering atop the seven or eight story structure. It was recognized as the Main Building of the Ministry of Defense. Talbot pointed to the front entrance and instructed that if they went into the front entrance and simply said that they were there for the appointment with Supreme Commander Roscoe they would be escorted directly to his office. Commander and Nashville thanked their chauffeur, and they left the curbside to go into the building.

There was a metal detector but since Commander was in a distinctly non-British uniform the duo was called over to a small side desk where he was asked to provide his service number. He did and in so doing was allowed to proceed without any other security hassle. The only thing for Nashville though was to confirm that she is who is listed in his service registry. They went over to the main reception desk and stated their business. The receptionist told them to wait over by a double door to the side, saying that a trio of Royal Marines would escort them to their appointment.

They waited, and sure enough a minute or so later, the door swung open to show three men that were recognized quickly by the foreigners. It was the same marines first from Kitsap in Washington and then San Francisco in California all that time ago. Recognition flashed on their faces as well. Commander remarked, "Small world, huh?" as they group went through the doors to disappear into the bowels of the building.

Only when the doors closed did one of the marines respond, "True that. Never thought we'd see either of your faces again."

"How've y'all been doing?" asked Nashville.

"Not so bad. Business as usual, I'd say," replied another marine, but then he added on, "Last time we saw you miss, you were dancing on clouds. But your CO wasn't doing nearly as well. So, how's it been since then?"

"It's been pretty good, actually," she said.

One of the marines said to Commander, "And you've gotten over your shell shock, yeah?"

"In my defense, that day was one of those forty-eight-hour days. But yeah, I've gotten over it, and then some. I feel like a completely different person now."

They kept up the conversation as they ascended a few stories in an elevator and when they got off, they followed a lengthy hallway until the remainder of the detail from that day nearly two months ago came into view. Salutes were exchanged and the duo were allowed through the door they were guarding. They came out into a smaller secretary office. There was a large desk in the path between the door they entered from to where the door leading to Roscoe's office was. At this desk sat a woman who appeared to be in her early thirties. A placard introduced the duo to, "Leftenant-Commander Janice Larcom."

Very brief greetings were exchanged, and she ushered them around her desk and to Roscoe's door. She knocked and they heard Roscoe's voice bid them to enter. The door opened and the duo entered. Larcom closed the door behind them.

Roscoe looked up from the paper in front of him and he smiled widely to see the duo. He was clearly relieved that they were in his office. His next words confirmed it. "What a relief it is to see the two of you."

Both Commander and Nashville smiled widely as they snapped salutes toward the superior officer. "It's mutual, sir," replied Commander.

In a gesture of respect that was not lost on Commander, Roscoe stood in order to return the salute, even though there was absolutely no reason for him to do so. "Well, we have much to discuss. So, come on over here. And please don't keep me guessing as to what has gotten you so concerned."

The duo approached the still standing supreme commander who, once they were close enough, extended his hand for a friendly greeting. Roscoe drove his point home by saying, "Truly, I cannot do justice to how much of a relief it is to see you two. I had feared in the beginning that I may have sent even more people to their death needlessly. But you have defied the odds and expectations."

"How can we follow on with praise like that?" asked Nashville. "But thanks anyway."

"Even though there is still much that remains, I say that it is not praise enough. But please, take a seat." The duo followed the request and sat in the chairs in front of Roscoe's desk. He took a moment to gather up the loose papers and stack them neatly to the side, so that he could properly give his undivided attention to the heroes. As he was gathering the last of the papers to the side he continued, "Chairwoman Hara and I may have congratulated the both of you on your victories over the call last week, but I wish to congratulate you again in person. You did well. Above and beyond. Medal-worthy if your operation wasn't so secret. But as happy as it makes me to see you, your presence confirms my fears that superweapons are involved in this blockade on Europe. Am I wrong?"

"I'm afraid that you're correct, sir," admitted Commander. "And thanks for the congratulations by the way." He remembered something and said, "Oh yeah. And thank you so much for helping with the conditions of the Eagle Union Ship girls, you really made a big difference for the better." Nashville nodded like crazy with this last part in particular.

Roscoe smiled extra-large to say, "Not a problem for either of those things. The changes in the Eagle Union Navy in particular, were a long time coming." Then he grew more serious. "But I'll be very pleased to see a repeat of the outcome from the Bahamas here in this theater of the war. But I must know, do you believe a superweapon to be off the United Kingdom's western coast or in the North Sea?"

"To be honest, we aren't sure if we should be looking to the west or the east," said Nashville.

Commander added on, "Something tells me that we'll end up looking at both. Especially if things are as bad as the numbers of ships sunk tells us."

"I believe likewise," said Roscoe, "But I must order that the two of you remain off the west coast for now. Either until you can destroy the superweapon, or you can confirm that the blockade is a normal one."

"Yes sir," said Commander, "But why?"

Roscoe smiled and said, "You know, not very many people question my orders." Commander gulped. "It is a good thing. I welcome it. That is how I rose through the ranks. And nowadays, the only other people who actively questions my orders, or requests, for that matter, are Eriko Hara, Leftenant-Commander Larcom, and Mrs. Roscoe." Then he grew serious, "I can answer your question because of your clearance. And because, given the events of the past few weeks, I find myself trusting the two of you. You see, both the First Sea Lord of my country's navy and the Chief of Naval Operations of yours is starting to pressure me for an offensive that will relink the mass supply lines between the Eastern and Western Hemispheres. The statistics hint that there is only a superweapon in European waters and as much as I'm trying to stall, I'm not untouchable, and both men are starting to mobilize politics against me. I need you to take care of the situation before it turns into a blood bath without any semblance of victory or before a new supreme commander gives them the bloodbath they so desperately want."

"What sort of timetable are we dealing with?" asked Nashville.

"If I were to approve right now, they would have the offensive begin within a fortnight. But they have both implied strongly that the ultimatum is set for three months out before they really start to make a ruckus. And on a side note, God knows what sort of pressures Eriko Hara must deal with. But my hands are slowly starting to be tied. This needs to be taken care of sooner rather than later, or things will just get worse." He chuckled mirthlessly and seemed to age decades in a second before adding on, "That seems to be a running gag as of late."

"We're on the job," assured Commander.

"Good. I expect great things. But this isn't the only thing on my mind. Ever since your call last week, I've been losing some sleep for fear of what your concerns may be. Because I will be perfectly frank with you, since the completion of your objective in the Bahamas, you two are more expert than I, or anyone else alive on this planet, about the threat of the superweapons, or how they should be dealt with. And whenever you are concerned, Hara and I are virtually panicking."

It came crashing down for Commander in this moment. Roscoe was more clueless than they were, and if they wait for too long, he might be even more powerless. No pressure. Only the fate of the world hangs in the balance. No biggie. Just. Get on with it. Commander swallowed to steel his nerves. Roscoe and Nashville noticed the man put on a determined expression. Roscoe had to admit that the man before him wasn't the one that he met in Kitsap two months ago. He was proud of the Union Officer, as if he were Roscoe's own kin. Nashville was likewise proud of her commander. He had proven himself in her eyes that when the shit hit the fan, he'd brave the storm.

Commander withdrew Agent Johnson's report from the rucksack that he had taken with them and he laid it out and started to explain, "We can't tell if what concerns us is a symptom of or an active aggregator of the problem. But we've come across evidence that there's a cult actively worshipping super weapons. They call themselves, "The Heralds of the Deep." They're performing human sacrifices using those unfortunate souls that happen to witness superweapons and live. We don't know why they do it, or what they hope to achieve. But I personally am convinced that they know something that we don't. And that makes these people very dangerous."

Roscoe was pale. This sort of stress wasn't good for the health of an old man like him. Commander noticed him look towards a picture frame on the corner of his desk. It was angled in such a way so that he could notice a young couple. The man had on an officer's dress uniform from the Royal Navy, while the woman had on a beautiful white gown. It was a wedding photo. "I miss the good old days," he lamented. Were all Royal Navy personnel so sentimental? But a second glance revealed a much younger Grayson Roscoe with whom Commander assumed was the aforementioned, "Mrs. Roscoe."

"We can bring those good old days back, sir. Or even better, we can make better days in the future. But please, don't lose hope. Millions of people trust your words and follow your orders with the confidence that you know what can be done. So, if you lose hope, I fear that hopelessness and despair will sweep across humanity like a plague. We have found the problem before it's too big to ignore. What Nashville and I want, is to counsel with you and Chairwoman Hara, so that we can keep this problem a secret to those who are better off in ignorance. Keep the innocent, innocent."

Roscoe smiled thinly. He knew that he made the right choice of person to handle this crisis. "Very well, Commander. I'll hold fast to whatever hope I have left." Commander and Nashville smiled in return and Roscoe spoke again, "How did you come across this information?"

"On accident," recalled Nashville. "We were just getting some information from the Eagle Union Coast Guard when they mentioned to us that an agent with the FBI was getting the same information about sinking ships to link together a string of murders." Nashville looked over to Commander to continue.

He obliged the ship girl. "We tracked the agent down, waved our credentials around, and were treated to a story of a cult sacrificing superweapon survivors for some reason. The FBI managed to capture one cultist alive from a shoot-out that ended with a lot of them committing suicide. After weeks of questioning, they got very little out of him before he hung himself one night."

"What did the FBI get out of the cultist?" asked Roscoe.

"That's the main thing we wanted your take on," said Nashville. "The FBI only got a sonnet out of him."

"A sonnet? Like a Shakespeare sonnet?"

Commander answered, "A lot darker and with a traditional Iron Blood rhyme scheme. But yes, a sonnet. And here it is…" (AUTHOR'S NOTE: I won't be repeating the sonnet line by line here, so for a refresher, it's near the end of Chapter 7. And for your convenience, this spot is about a third of the way through the chapter. Go on. I'll wait.) He read out the sonnet, and the reaction that Roscoe gave was reminiscent of the reaction the duo gave Johnson.

Having finished and braved the following suffocation by silence, Roscoe responded, "I vastly prefer the work of Edgar Alan Poe. And that is saying something."

"Despite being a mathematician by education I attempted to dust off the skills my English teacher gave me in high school. So, here's what I think it all means. I think that the first two lines are referring to the respect and power of either the superweapons or the Sirens or both. "Quo," refers to a gift given in exchange for something else, a sacrifice in this case. I think being permitted to reap has something to do with their beginnings, like they were lost or otherwise unable to pursue their worship, whether this state was in ignorance or not, I don't know. I think a prophet is what they call those that they sacrifice."

Nashville interrupted him with a touch on the shoulder. With fear in her eyes, she pointed out a fact that he had missed. "If what you say is true, then you and I are prophets. And so are all the ship girls from South Point that had any contact with the superweapon there."

"That part I missed," whispered Commander.

"Things just got much graver," said Roscoe.

"Indeed," agreed Commander. He thought for a moment and then he turned to Nashville. "Say I was a cultist that somehow managed to find out what you know. And say that I somehow mustered the manpower to pin you onto a table. Would there be anything stopping you from summoning your rigging?"

"The rigging would crash through any obstacle and form. The cultist would be blindsided by naval artillery. But to be completely honest, you'd need ten men to have any chance of even wrestling the likes of Eldridge to the ground."

"But what about drugging?"

"That would work," said Nashville.

Roscoe interjected, "Commander, Nashville, leave the protection of the ship girls of Miami to me. I'll see to it that they're protected. At least until we confirm that they are or are not in danger. In fact, I think that this possibility is good reason to step up the security of every ship girl base on earth, we don't know who has seen what. I'll also coordinate this with Chairwoman Hara."

"Thank you, sir," said Nashville and Commander in unison.

"Now. I believe there was still more sonnet?"

"Ah. Yes. Where was I?" asked Commander.

"Right after prophets," reminded Nashville.

"Thank you," he replied before continuing he explanation, "The sonnet then refers to a docket with the duality of being a blessing and a curse, as if it were a noble sacrifice on their part. Or as if it were a cursed thing being used for a blessing. A docket is a list or a schedule of trials, like for a court. It probably has something to do with a judgement, or an impending judgement. I think the creepiest part is when they say they want to undergo some change. I have not a clue what kind of change they want to undergo. I think the last few lines are the clearest. Inapposite is defined as, 'inappropriate,' or, 'out of place.' But the last part is the 'one most marine.' I think that it refers to the Sirens. Or some sort of intelligence either from them or their superweapons."

After a few moments of silence, Nashville made a comment, "I was following and agreeing with all of what you said until the last part. I think that the 'one most marine,' is their leader or founder. And marine isn't meaning from the ocean but experienced with it. Because think about it. If it was from the ocean it would have said, 'something marine,' instead of, 'one most marine.'"

Commander replied, "I don't necessarily agree with the last part of your judgement, but you do have a point. It could be referring to a person, a sailor, presumably. And that opens up the possibility of it being just about any sailor unlucky enough to have survived a superweapon."

Nashville asked Roscoe, "Is there anyone outside of us three plus Chairwoman Hara that know about the superweapons definitively?"

"There are a couple members of the intelligence community that assisted with Operation Argonautica. But I don't think that they qualify as, 'one most marine.' There is no one that fits the description outside of the four of us. And despite her being a former enemy, I trust Chairwoman Hara will remain loyal to her people and her cause to her dying breath."

Commander sighed, "So, we have logically concluded that they do know something about the superweapons and that they are a threat. But now our trail has run cold without any way to get more information."

"It would seem so," agreed the wizened officer. "I suppose vigilance is the best we can do right now."

Nashville got a feeling that they had the next piece already. She spoke up by asking Roscoe, "Sir, are there any military forces stationed in London that aren't along the river? We docked nearby the HMS Belfast Museum and on the way over here my huff-duff picked up an encoded transmission on a military frequency from inside the city limits. I predict it to have been from the north-northeast at about a distance of only a nautical mile or so."

"No. There is nothing of the sort," replied Roscoe.

She looked over to Las Vegas and asked, "I intercepted the code, and I don't recognize it from anything I've seen before. Can you look at it?"

He nodded and booted up Mr. Bond. He got the code and looked at it. He was perplexed at what he saw. Las Vegas reported, "Every code that I've encountered has it's tell. The trick with so many players in this game that we're playing isn't just to hide what the code says, but to hide who sent it. This code is Iron Blood in origin. But that isn't to say that the sender was Iron Blood. I can also tell that it isn't a known military code. However, tech-firms in Berlin and elsewhere in Iron Blood territory that have been putting together high security cyphers for the highest bidders—typically businesses—for years. So, I can take a crack at it, but with this outside my scope of experience by not being military, don't expect results in a timely manner. We should get help from the firm itself. Or at least, someone intricately familiar with cyphers of this type. Someone from the inside."

He then looked Nashville in the eye and asked her, "I'm personally iffy on whether we should follow this quote-unquote, 'lead,' or not. So, do you think we should pursue this? Because realistically speaking, the only link we have between this encoded message and the Heralds of the Deep is that they were brought up in the same conversation. The rest of the evidence is circumstantial at best."

Nashville didn't have to think that hard before she said, "If it's all we have, then we should look into it."

"Okay," said Commander. "It looks like we're off to the Iron Blood once we're done here in the UK. And besides, as I said earlier, I have a feeling that there is another superweapon in the North Sea anyway. But either way, we'll definitely want to bring Chairwoman Hara in on this."

"On that, we agree. It's just too bad that she has to wait to hear this," concluded Roscoe. "But I'll stand by what I said earlier and step up the security on the ship girl bases around Azur Lane and encourage Chairwoman Hara to do the same in the Crimson Axis. I'll also get some people to look into the Heralds of the Deep. If either of us can find anything. It will be a great help to us all."

Silence befell the trio. It was a good rest time for them all. Even though they still didn't know anything concrete quite yet, all the evidence they had so far pointed toward the Iron Blood as having the answers. An Iron Blood rhyme scheme. An Iron Blood cypher. The possibility of a superweapon in Iron Blood patrolled waters. It was all linked somehow. But unless the Heralds of the Deep tipped their hand sooner, all they could do was wait and watch. "Is there anything else you two wanted to discuss?" asked Roscoe.

Nashville shook her head, but as both the supreme commander and the ship girl had come to expect from him, Commander still had something to say. He explained, "A year or so ago there was a battle off Easter Island that scattered a number of Eagle Union ship girls. A friend in the Union Navy was adamant that they're still just missing and not sunken. Has any information about any of these scattered ship girls come across your desk within the past year?"

"You refer to the Grey Ghost and her Task Force 13. Do you not?"

"That's the one," confirmed Nashville.

Roscoe answered, "Enterprise is of significant value in boosted morale alone for most of the ship girl forces in Azur Lane. And that is to say nothing of her battlefield prowess, which is considerable. The Eagle Union stopped it's search about three months after the battle. I stopped any Azur Lane search, official and unofficial, four months later. We did not find any wreckage and we did not find any sign of the task force. So, I do not know what to tell you. Intuition says that they are out there somewhere. But I have no idea where that may be. I am sorry. But that is the best I have got."

"It's alright, sir," pardoned Nashville.

"What's the deal with Commodore Jeremy Smithers there in Devonport?" asked Commander. "The man is a walking sexual harassment lawsuit."

Roscoe smiled. "Your word was exactly what I was hoping for, Commander. That man has had enough ticks against him that just a little more was enough to remove him from command."

Commander and Nashville were surprised. She exclaimed, "That's it? I thought that we'd have to plead some case or something against him."

"So did I," concurred Las Vegas.

"Smithers isn't a popular man, and with good reason. I had given him one last chance before he was removed. And he just blew that chance. I cannot give any timelines, but I'll see to it that a new officer be instated into that position."

"That was easy, but I have one more thing," said Commander. Attention turned to him again, and Roscoe noticed hesitation. That killed his mirth at Smithers' expense and made him a bit nervous for what may be troubling the young officer. Finally, Commander spoke, "Nashville was a high-speed cargo vessel for a year since her launching and this is with six months of overlap before the end of Operation Argonautica. Was Nashville kept isolated from any ship girl fleet as a back-up plan?"

Nashville had historically tried to ignore this type of question saying it couldn't be true. And she had no idea that this bothered Las Vegas too. But now that the question was out there, she wanted the truth. But a part of her didn't want to know. She was scared that she might just have been launched and given a second chance in the off chance that some other, better known ship girl failed. To have the sole purpose of covering up for someone else's screw-up is a terrible fate that showed just how second rate she was really considered by the navy. All this time, she just thought and told herself that she was late in joining the fight. Was she really just a cleanup crew?

Roscoe avoided looking at either visitor in his office. He looked again at the photo on his desk. His wife, his better half, would want him to be honest. He mourned for the passing of the honest man he used to be. And after so long, with so many lies over the years, he said he trusted those before him. But did he really? Grayson Roscoe came to a crossroads. He could lie and risk being called out on it and lose the trust of the people who might just be able to turn the tide of humanity's destruction, or he could come clean, even though it will hurt them. After some deliberation, he decided to come clean. It would hurt less in the long run.

"Yes," he responded.

"Would she have stayed like she was if Argonautica had continued?"

"Yes."

"Would she have stayed like that if Argonautica succeeded?"

"Likely."

"Is there a backup plan for us if we should fail?"

"As I said when I met you, we are coming down to the wire. There is a back-up plan, but I fear that there will not be much to pick up the pieces if should she fail too. You two are humanity's best chance."

Commander looked over to Nashville. She was on the verge of tears. And he was only barely containing his anger. So, he said to Roscoe in a level monotone that belied his indignation, "Thank you for your honesty, Supreme Commander Roscoe. And thank you for your time. I beg you to reconsider whatever you're having our potential replacement do right now. But I've said all that I was concerned about. And I'm sorry to be so abrupt but I think it's time for Nashville and me to get going. Unless, you have anything more?"

Roscoe shook his head. Commander responed with, "We'll stay in touch."

The duo stood to leave and made it halfway to the door when Roscoe spoke up. He said, "I'm sorry for what happened, for what we did to you, Miss Nashville. But it had to be done. I hope that you two can understand."

Commander responded with, "We understand. It's just tragic when what has to be done conflicts with what's right. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Aye. I have been doing it for years."

"Take care of yourself, Sir. We look forward to seeing you again sometime."

"I look forward to it as well. Godspeed."

They left his office. And Roscoe didn't feel that much better compared to before they arrived. He felt like he was getting too old for this sort of thing.

XXXXXXXX

Lieutenant Commander Larcom wished the duo well, and she was extra emphatic when she saw the state of Nashville, who was barely keeping it together. The Royal Marines had a nearly identical reaction to Larcom. The same three that had guided them to Roscoe's office would take them back to the lobby that the duo had arrived in. But on the way, one of the marines whispered into Commander's ear that he had better take care of Nashville. Commander nodded subtly to the marine and looked back over to his companion, she was starting to lose the fight with her emotional state. They got into the lobby and they left the building. While most people would turn inland to go see Buckingham Palace, Nashville led them in the opposite direction.

Immediately adjacent to the Main Building of the Ministry of Defense and across the street on the banks of the River Thames was a memorial. It had a gilded eagle atop a pillar. An inscription showed it to be a memorial for the deceased of the Royal Air Force from both world wars. The duo was able to see that the memorial was oddly vacant of people. But both were grateful for that. Just in front of the memorial itself there were some steps that led down into the water. Nashville gravitated toward the water naturally. She sat down on one of the bottom steps that would keep her feet out of the water. She looked into the water and saw her reflection. She saw the truth of why she was the way she was. A backup. Not even worth being given a chance for anything else. Her commander sat down beside her.

Tears finally started to streak down her face. And what started silently began to grow into choking sobs. Las Vegas wasn't going to just let her suffer alone, so he had to decide a way to make her feel better. He knew her well enough to tell that words alone wouldn't work here. So, he took advantage of the proximity and gently laid his arm around her shoulders. Without even really thinking about it, she turned a bit closer to him and leaned into the sideways embrace.

She continued her crying, and he tried his absolute hardest to keep his own sadness and anger in check so that he could serve as her anchor. But then she whispered, "Just a backup."

He lost his own battle with his sadness and his growing despair. Tears started to come from his own eyes seeing his friend—one whose presence he had come to cherish and whose smiles could make storms flee from before her—in such a state. "Don't say that," he pleaded, "Don't ever say that. You are so much more, and you have so much more to offer than just a backup."

"But it's true. You heard him."

"You're right. I did hear him. But you are a living, breathing, soul with the power to choose. That's what I want to you to see. Ever since I met you and asked to be your friend, that I've wanted you to see. You can choose to live, and you can choose the purpose of your life. It's true we have a task, one that was thrust on both of us. But we can still choose to make it worthwhile in the end."

"Why are we here, Las Vegas? Will the pain ever end? Will it ever get easier?" Both missed it, but this was the first time that Nashville skipped addressing him as, "Commander," or, "sir," and went straight for, "Las Vegas."

Through his own tears and despair, he began to explain to himself as much as to her, "I know that it will be hard to see right now but I think that there is a purpose with life. I think that we're here so that we can learn to be happy. But to know happiness, we have to know sadness. Joy can't exist without despair. And the greater the sadness we feel, the greater our happiness can become. So, please, believe me. What you're feeling right now, it will hurt for just a moment and later you will feel an equally great happiness. I promise."

She continued crying, but not as much as before. She had never known Las Vegas to lie to her and she had every reason to believe that he was being honest right now. He himself was starting to calm down so he said, "Please. Listen to what I'm about to say. Through whatever pain or whatever joy that you're feeling, you won't be alone. I won't allow it. You have a purpose. A great one, and one that only you have. You just have to find it, that's part of being human. And please, would you smile? For the both of us? I'll even do it with you. It's a trick to make the bad moments go faster."

She nodded against his embrace and he let her go from his arms. She looked at her commander and began the smile that he had asked for. It was forced at first but as always, when she smiled, he felt the need to smile back. So, he did. His smile made hers more genuine and hers did the same for him. Nashville was finally able to stop and then dry her tears.

The bad moment had passed, just like Las Vegas had foretold. Both found themselves looking out into the water of the Thames. And after a few seconds of solitude Nashville started to speak, "I understand why the supreme commander did what he did. I guess I knew it all along and was just in denial. Thanks for asking those questions by the way. But I wish that I could have been launched for a second time on better terms."

Commander agreed with a trailing, "Yeah." He glanced at his feet which was still a few steps from the water in the river and he noticed a newspaper crushed up against the side of the steps. A flash of inspiration came upon him and he grabbed the paper. Nashville looked over to him in confusion as he started to fold it in a particular fashion. He could tell that she was about to ask what he was doing so he began to explain. "Due to budgetary reasons, I regretfully inform that we cannot launch your hull again. But, in another moment, the Las Vegas Shipbuilding Corporation will have a handy little ocean worthy vessel that you can launch on your terms."

The newspaper took the form of a paper boat. And once it was complete, he withdrew a pen from the rucksack and asked, "What do you want to name it? I'm partial to the name, 'Little Nashville,' myself."

Nashville had to laugh a bit at the display. "That's some crazy budgetary constraints we're running off of here," she remarked. "Here. Let's see it. Women typically christen a ship at it's launching anyway." He handed the pen and the boat to her and she thought for a bit. She laughed some more and said, "Sorry but there's no way I'm gonna launch a 'Little Nashville.' This here will be named, 'Charles Coney,' for one of my captains back in World War II."

"Sounds good to me."

Nashville wrote the name on the side of the paper boat and she stood to take a step closer to the water. Las Vegas followed her. They both squatted down and though they lacked bottles of champagne to break on the bow or huge crowds or grandiose speeches, Nashville launched the EUS Charles Coney into the River Thames.

The Charles Coney was unarmed, had a displacement of less than an ounce, a speed of about two and a half knots, and realistically would only get a couple hundred feet down the river before sinking, but the launch was as symbolic to the duo as any ship launch ever was. It was a new beginning. Nashville felt tons lighter. And Commander himself felt pleased with the prospects that the future may bring, to say nothing of how happy he was to see Nashville happy.

Neither the Sirens nor the Heralds would know what hit 'em.

But they could wait. Or at least, so thought Las Vegas. He said, "Well, we finished up in London what we originally aimed to do. But this is my first time here. Is it yours?" She nodded. "Wanna go sightseeing?"

Nashville thought for a few seconds before she said, "While I've had tons of fun since I've met you, I can't say that we've done anything just to pass time. So, let's do it. I just need to get my camera from my hull."

"No problem. But I should probably change into something that doesn't scream, "Hey look! A slacking sailor!"

"I should probably change too," she concurred.

And so, they walked away from the Royal Air Force Memorial onto the sidewalk that would lead them back to where Nashville docked just a bit downriver. And though neither of them saw it, a few stories up in the main building of the ministry of defense and crowded around a window was a squad of highly trained Royal Marines. They didn't dare do the transaction on duty, but banter would have payment of one hundred fifty quid go to the one marine who said that the commander would make Nashville feel better but not make out with her. Grayson Roscoe saw it too a few windows down. He couldn't help but smile. They reminded the old man of how he was—and still is—with his own wife. And in spite of his own questions concerning the humanity of ship girls, he couldn't help but approve. "They better keep it professional though," mentally chided the superior officer.

They were able to pass the time talking and making plans as they were getting back to Nashville's hull. The duo decided that the decent thing to do would be to assume that they were Hood's and Belfast's ride back to Devonport so they had to find either of them to see how long their inspection would take and plan their time around that.

As they were passing by where a heavy cruiser that they didn't recognize was docked, they saw Hood and who they assumed to be the cruiser in question. Commander was able to note that there seemed to be a uniformity among the ship girls of London that they had seen so far. Like Nelson and Swiftsure, this woman wore a dress of red and white. She also had on an ostensible crown that was tilted to favor one side of her head. Commander thought that the crown was tacky. But he wouldn't comment on it. But he would admit that she was able to pull of a red cape pretty well. Huh. Approving of a cape. Doesn't that make him tacky too?

Hood noticed the presence of the duo and when she looked, the other woman did too. Commander saw them finish their conversation as he and Nashville came down onto the dock where the Royals were standing. As they approached Hood took charge as the one in acquaintance of all present to lead in introductions. Commander and Nashville stopped, and she began, "Exeter, I would like to introduce Calico Jack and Nashville."

"It's nice to meet you, Calico Jack. And you as well, Nashville," introduced Exeter.

"Same to you," replied Nashville.

"The pleasure it ours, Miss Exeter," said Calico Jack.

She smiled lightly at the politeness of the one that had been labeled as a pirate. She began to speak again, "While I can tell that you wish to speak with Hood more than I, would you please humor me a question?"

"Absolutely."

"I have heard that you can lead through packs of submarines and raiders undetected. Is this true?"

He glanced briefly to Hood, who in turn subtly avoided his gaze. This confirmed who Exeter had heard this from. He said, "It's true. And while I don't know exactly what you may have heard, I assure you, it isn't anything mystical."

"Surely you jest, Calico Jack," inserted Hood. "Please consider the perspective of women who were once ships. What you can do is quite mystical. Especially for Exeter and I because we were not around long enough to see Ultra reach it's peak efficiency."

This presented a somewhat awkward moment for the codebreaker. How do you respond to someone who died violently and then for all intents and purposes, came back from the dead, when they talk about their demise? He decided to keep it simple, "All in a day's work. Am I right?"

"Indeed," agreed both Hood and Exeter.

He had another second of pause that brought on one of those moments of self-awareness for his current lot in life. He mused aloud, "Oh yeah. I suppose I do associate mainly with women who were once ships. You know, sometimes I feel like I'm going to wake up from some vivid dream and go back to my desk to get to work like I was in my last posting."

"Last posting?" asked Exeter.

"I have more experience as a mathematician than a sailor."

"I had suspected such," said Hood. "But enough of that. You had something for me?"

"Yeah," said Nashville. "We were wondering how much time you and Belfast would need for your inspection."

"Why?" inquired Hood.

Calico Jack explained, "Our business concluded quickly, and we assumed that we are to deliver you and Belfast back to Devonport upon the completion of your duties. And if time permitted," he made a show of looking up and down the banks of the Thames and he then continued, "we hoped to be able to wonder around. A cursory glance would show that London is quite a bit different than Las Vegas and I wanted to confirm my suspicions."

Hood smiled and she replied, "Belfast and I prefer to take our time and be thorough but if you two are willing to be patient, we would be leaving here in about forty-eight hours."

Calico Jack and Nashville shared a look and the latter responded, "We can entertain ourselves for two days."

"Marvelous," declared Hood, "Do you intend to stay in London?"

Calico Jack said, "We're undecided but at least for today, yes we will be."

"Then I would like to invite you to dinner with the garrison here. It would only be hospitable."

"We'll take you up on that," answered Nashville. "Just radio us when and where."

"Of course," promised Hood. She wished the duo well.

"Have fun today," wished Exeter.

Goodbyes were exchanged and the duo went to continue their journey to Nashville's hull. They boarded and were able to change into more appropriate tourist-ing attire than a navy uniform or a super revealing/tight dress. For Commander, on went jeans, his favorite sneakers, a t-shirt, and a light jacket for the weather that may or may not rain. He also made sure to stow Giovanni, his pistol, and his knife in a way that was properly concealed.

Nashville elected for a pair of skinny jeans with a halter top and a jacket for the same reason as Commander. She had chosen attire that would emphasize her bust, to try and see if she could get the same reaction out of Las Vegas like she did when they went off base in Miami. With a smirk on her face she joined her commander to get going.

But alas, he had learned his lesson, and he soundly defeated her attempts at teasing. They would spend the rest of the day much as expected. They saw the London sights and Nashville was able to get tons of pictures of the places, people, and herself with her commander. The most notable thing that would be bought as the morning turned into afternoon was when Commander led the duo into a small art store where he surprised her with several picture frames and a scrapbook. She was moved, accepting the gifts with a big hug and tons of gratitude.

XXXXXXXX

But as they would continue their day on the town, down river just outside of what could be considered London-proper, what looked like a man took shape under the water's surface, as if it materialized from the liquid itself. It waited under water for much longer than what would be physically possible for a human but when it got a chance, it lifted itself onto the banks of the river. To human eyes, it would have been considered very attractive among men, but no matter how long it waited to dry itself and it's clothes off and get on the move it's hair remained wet and matted with bits of mud. Too much time had passed. It looked human enough. The Knight Guardian started it's hunt for the Magician. It was humorous really. In the absence of King Arthur, the dark knight Mordred would have to do battle with the wizard Merlin instead.

Mordred was intelligent enough to be able to speak with humans and in a disguise good enough pass as one of their own. It asked a few people that it supposed would have reason to spend most of the day along the river if they had seen a warship go into London today. Follow up questions for specifics prompted it to give a basic description for Nashville. Nobody refused the seemingly attractive man. Mordred concluded that humans were hilariously gullible. They never questioned one that they thought of as beautiful, because danger can never be pleasing to the eye.

All of them pointed upriver and all of them confirmed that the ship in question hadn't left London. This news pleased Mordred greatly. But it was a shame that it had been forbidden from killing and eating the Magician outright, like it was wont to do. The magician's ship girl, or any ship girl for that matter, had enough firepower on their riggings to annihilate Mordred in his disguised, yet weak state. It would be a pathetic way to die if it's disguise was blown. This was especially true when Mordred considered the loftier state of it's own existence compared to that of humans or ship girls. But it could still eat the Magician, if it was careful, but Strategist decided to err on the side of caution. Mordred was to get in, find the Magician, and get out to go back to it's hunting grounds to the west. With this travesty in mind, Mordred resolved to get someone to eat as the day wore on into night.

Mordred went up the Thames on foot. Convenience was on it's side for it had found itself on the same bank at the light cruiser in question. Mordred considered the vessel. It was certainly better to look at than most of the other ships that it had destroyed over the months. So, it found Nashville's hull. But where was Nashville? And where was the Magician?

Unable to come up with better alternatives it decided to post watch over the ship from a suitable location. It armed itself with a newspaper and found a well-placed bench close by it's quarry. Mordred was able to laugh silently at the hilariousness of the Magician's stupidity. It wagered that he considered himself the hunter around here. Oh, how untrue that was!

The afternoon wore on into the evening and Mordred sat there patiently, at times enjoying the pointlessness of the newspaper, at times it even managed to strike up conversation with Londoners oblivious to the greater being in their midst, and at times it eavesdropped on passers-by. But eventually, it caught it's lucky break and heard almost exactly what it wanted to. He heard a stately sounding woman suggest to another, "Lady Hood, should I radio Calico Jack and Nashville where we should meet them for dinner?"

"Yes Belfast, please do," said the woman who Mordred could now positively identify as Hood, a Royal Navy Ship Girl. It smiled behind it's newspaper after the two ship girls had walked past. Nobody saw it, but it's smile was just a bit wider than what would be considered possible for a human. It didn't know about any, "Calico Jack," but hearing Nashville's name was good enough of a lead.

It stood up to follow the women as subtly as possible. Based on it's analyzing mind and heightened senses it could tell it was undetected for the nearly half hour it spent trailing Hood and Belfast. Hood remained clueless to what followed her, but it certainly wasn't victory. Nevertheless, Mordred could tell when Belfast would get suspicious of being followed and it would dip out of sight or into a small crowd of people as the ship girl would look over her shoulder. Belfast was on alert, yet still ignorant of the grave danger.

Eventually the women who were as much real women as it was a real man, entered a homey looking pub. It would wait outside for another half hour to try and assuage any possible suspicions. Mordred even dipped into an alley to alter it's clothing to make any possible recognition harder. It's hair still hadn't dried, so it formed a loose newsboy's hat to cover it's hair up.

It entered into the pub immediately after a small group of men, so that it could look like a part of their party. Mordred spotted Hood and Belfast easily. They along with about nine or ten other ship girls were huddled along a side table. Mordred saw a plain looking man with green eyes and brown hair. It was likely the Magician, but Mordred had to be sure. It walked up to the pub counter and ordered a pint of the house brew. The pint came and Mordred was pleasantly surprised with the quality of human alcohol. Mordred enjoyed it's drink all the while paying attention to the ship girl fleet across the pub. With time, it heard what it wanted to. It heard the name, "Nashville," and apparently around here the Magician was called, "Calico Jack." Now Mordred had seen their faces and heard their voices and confirmed that it was them.

Mordred had gotten what it wanted, or at least, what it had been ordered to do. But if it couldn't eat Calico Jack it at least wanted to gloat in his presence. And it got it's chance when Calico Jack got up for a challenge to play some darts. It along with a few other pub-goers went against Calico Jack. Calico Jack lost, but didn't come in last, while of course, it had won. The pub-goers patted Mordred on the back for it's victory and when it came to Calico Jack's turn, Mordred found it's quarry to be a good sportsman.

Calico Jack said, "It was a good game. You're pretty good at this."

"You weren't so bad yourself," it complemented back, sounding completely normal. "But all games have to come to an end."

"Right you are," conceded Calico Jack. Mordred took smug satisfaction with Calico Jack's response. But this was cut short when Calico Jack continued, "But maybe next time will be different. But anyway, see you around." Calico Jack then had the audacity to pat Mordred on the shoulder as he turned to sit back down with his company.

Even if the gloat hadn't been as satisfying as it was hoping for, the job was done. Now it was hungry. It then having received the farewell went immediately out: and it was night.

Right off the bat I have to say that I much prefer this chapter to last chapter. The game pieces are starting to move. And things are about to get crazy. I also gotta say, writing to comfort Nashville or Mordred's hunt was my favorite part. But just wondering. Was it too confusing when I gave the superweapon the name, "Mordred," on the fly? I'm not intending to use that as it's name for long so is giving it what might be a one-chapter name too confusing? But anyway, I'm starting to get hyped for what's about to happen. I see some comments, so I'd best get to those.

Hi Zander22122. I think it's funny that you're talking about movie tastes. I was just trying to make a funny reference that built off the alicorn joke. But about the alicorn, I was pretty surprised to find out that a unicorn with wings is actually called an alicorn. Thanks Google. I'll admit, I haven't seen Agents of Shield. Talbot was just the first English sounding name from a novel that I keep on my desk. The novel is Moby Dick, in case you're interested. I'm still waiting for the perfect opportunity to let Nashville vent. I'm trying to be patient, and not force it into a scene or a chapter where it wouldn't work tonally. Thanks for your luck with Homework.

Hey there, SomeRand0m. Thanks for saying that my writing isn't boring. I try not to be boring. But hey, I'm not in a position to judge that very well. You (and everyone else who reads this story) are in that position. Congrats on your exams. But yeah, Dido is dead. Now that you mention it, keeping Nashville at least a little possessive will keep the drama that I (and probably a lot of other Azur Lane fanfic readers) like, but I guarantee that Nashville will not become as extreme as Akagi or Taiho. I'll likely include them in the story but to be honest, I can't stand yanderes hardly at all. I can't handle the tension that well. I'm glad that you like the OC's. That dynamic between the OC's is my favorite part of this story and if the rest of the story were to fall in quality, I would pour my heart and soul into keeping the interactions between Las Vegas and Nashville interesting. And for your sanity and my own, I don't intend to keep Las Vegas super dense for very long. Smithers hasn't done anything to Unicorn, not for lack of trying though. But big sister Illustrious is on the job. I'm glad that you liked the chapter. And I don't think I was very clear with the fourth wall. Last chapter, it remained untouched, but I was confirming that it was broken the chapter before. It's odd you should mention how I corrected Belfast's eye color. I follow another writer on this cite and he/she writes an amazing story but almost every time they release a new chapter, it's guaranteed that they are going to update that chapter like five or six times over the next half hour, building and then dashing my hopes for more content. I assume that they are combing for errors to fix. The flurry of notifications kind of annoy me, so I try not to do this often. I'll only do it for the most glaring of errors. Belfast's eye color wasn't one of these huge errors. Thanks for having fun while reading, and I'm grateful for your feedback. Your suggestions have helped me before and you probably see a few of them implemented. But about your last paragraph about possessiveness and yanderes and pacing. Well, we'll see about all that.

It's good to see you, SafetyDoggo. To be honest, I intend to make each faction arc long enough to effectively spotlight each faction, tell my story in the detail and pace that I want, and to effectively weave my overarching plot, which I feel like is starting to take shape. I'm definitely going to cover the big four factions but to save time and avoid repetition, I'm probably going to have to compress some of the smaller factions into singular arcs. But I definitely haven't forgotten the small factions. Which by the way, I think that Manjuu and Yostar handle them oddly. For example, before WWII the Italian navy was a legitimate rival for the Royal Navy, so why aren't they as big in game? And Hitler considered the French Navy the first enemy before taking on the Royal Navy. But for your second question: an explanation about coastal guns and not anti-ship missiles is forthcoming in the next chapter. Railguns are a good idea though. I might incorporate that somewhere. I'm glad you liked the chapter.

Well, as usual, it's late again where I am. But still, I'm glad that I could get this done today and not tomorrow. I've said my piece and am satisfied with it. Take care, friends. If you are having a bad day I hope it gets better an if you are having a good day I hope it gets even better.