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Disclaimer: I don't own Azur Lane or any other properties I make references to.

"Mathematics is not yet ripe enough for such questions."

-Paul Erdös, Hungarian Mathematician

Chapter 26: The Conundrums

With the business concluded and Nashville humored with several photos, the Royals were offering their farewells when said light cruiser interrupted the proceedings by jabbing her commander with a sharp poke on the shoulder and she stressfully uttered, "We're being boarded."

Those who heard—which was everyone—tensed up ready to fight. But then Nashville's posture relaxed when she recognized who was boarding her. "It's just Cheshire," she sighed out, her relief apparent. But then a few moments later, she tacked on, "And Javelin."

Everyone else mimicked Nashville's act of relaxing and a few present even began to humor themselves with predictions of the spectacle that was no doubt about to come to pass very soon.

"Orders, sir?" requested Nashville.

Her commander spent a moment in thought to decide how to approach this new development. Eventually he gave his order, "Could you please get on the intercom and tell them to meet us at the gangway?"

Nashville had to smile at his "order." It was a lot easier to follow his orders when he makes them feel more like requests. She nodded and immediately obliged.

Then just after the intercom crackled to signal the end of Nashville speaking, Queen Elizabeth finally ordered that it was time to leave. So, the group turned to the door to do so, but Belfast, who had gathered all her teacups, wanted to make a stop by the galley. Nashville volunteered to escort her there while Las Vegas led the rest of the Royals to the gangway. So, they separated.

Inside the galley, Belfast got to organizing her things and stowing them. But before she loaded all her stuff into the case she had left behind, she took out two ammunition cans and set them on the counter adjacent to her. She explained and requested, "We found a substitute pistol for your commander. Would you kindly pass this ammunition on to him for me?"

"I was wondering why your case was so big. But yeah, I'll get it to him. And thanks for getting him something." Nashville then passed a moment with a huff of hollow laughter, "It's a favor to everyone that he's armed."

"Indeed," agreed Belfast, "It would be a tragedy to lose him." But then a few seconds of silence passed as Belfast was stowing everything away. As she was finishing up, she glanced over her shoulder and she offered, "The court and I wish you the best of fortunes."

It took Nashville a few seconds before she picked up on what Belfast was talking about. The maid was referring to her romantic prospects with Las Vegas. But when Nashville understood, she felt heat rising in her cheeks. She gathered herself and replied, "Thanks. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that Hood shared what she saw." But then without much thought, she added on, "But I wish he just automatically knew. It would make all this so much easier."

"You think him dense?" asked Belfast for clarification.

"Dense?" questioned Nashville.

Belfast reworded her question to say, "Do you think him incapable of deducing your feelings?"

Nashville had to think on that for a few seconds. She wanted to let her emotions make that answer, but she tried her hardest to be reasonable because that is what her commander deserved in her eyes. Eventually, she decided, "I think it's too early to tell because it's not fair for me to expect him to know anything this early on. I've only had a name for this feeling for two weeks. But for him, it's only day two."

Belfast had finished stowing his supplies, but she still asked, "Do you wish for him to remain ignorant of how you feel?"

Nashville sighed with aggravation at how indecisive she was about this very question. "Just a second ago, I wished that he knew. But I really don't know what I want. A part tells me that the time isn't right. Something tells me that he's not ready. Hell, I'm not ready…I guess that I want him to be dense until I can get both of us ready to go forward."

"Hmm," opined Belfast. "I advise caution. Waiting too long might be disastrous. And I hope you'll forgive when I accuse you of not being subtle enough to hide this forever."

"I understand the risks. But that's a game I'm willing to play," Nashville answered. But then she passed a moment of legitimate humor and it showed on her face. Belfast rose her eyebrows in curiosity. "I've actually thought about not being able to hide this. And you're right. I do slip up with hints here and there. I've probably slipped hints even before I knew what was happening. But this is where his personality works for me. He's too respectful. He doesn't press when I don't want to talk, and he trusts me so much that he buys the excuses I come up with."

The head maid found herself picturing the scenes in her head, and she found herself very amused. Her curiosity of the matter satiated, she repeated herself, "But we wish you luck, nonetheless. And who knows? Perhaps sometime in the near future, be it tomorrow or a month from now, or maybe longer, he'll have his own realization. But having known him for just long enough to think that I have an understanding of him, I suspect he will figure himself out before he understands how you feel."

The Union cruiser nodded in agreement, "That's honestly what I'm banking on because I don't know how to handle his feelings. I can barely handle my own. But here, let's go see how he handles Cheshire. I'm guessing you want to see this?"

Belfast grinned mischievously and she picked up her case to leave.

The two light cruisers managed to make a good enough pace to catch up to the rest of the Royal court plus their maids to witness the expected spectacle.

From Nashville's quarterdeck beside the gangway, a flurry of running steps charged towards the now awakened man that kindly separated himself from the rest of the group anticipating what was to come. Javelin called out, "Calico Jack! You're awake!" as she ran. Cheshire had more important things on her mind instead of words, like running. And for perhaps the first time in naval history, the top speed of a heavy cruiser outpaced a destroyer. Or maybe Javelin was favoring self-preservation?

No matter. Cheshire's arms outstretched for what was to be the largest bear hug ever and Calico Jack also put out his arms to receive her, all the while he slightly widened his stance to receive the cat-like woman. Simultaneously, he began to prepare himself for a conceivably uncomfortable experience. He did this from his experience with Charles Ausburne's flying hug after the Battle of Windward Passage.

He thought that he was ready. But just as Cheshire pounced, he realized that he wasn't ready. Nevertheless, he resigned himself to fate. Then they touched. But not how the man was expecting. He was foolishly expecting Cheshire to go for his waist or his chest. Nope. His face collided with Cheshire's cleavage and her arms wrapped around his neck and head. The next thing he learned was something that he had actually tried and then failed to compensate for, that being the fact that Cheshire is heavier than Charles Ausburne. He was comically flung backwards with Cheshire right on top of him. Fortunately, he had separated from the court so that nobody got swept into this. None of the witnesses could decide if Calico Jack's arms wrapped around Cheshire from his change in inertia or if he was doing it on purpose. Then in what the man thought of as far too much time spent airborne, they landed on Nashville's deck, with the cat-like heavy cruiser woman on top on him. Cheshire's arms and bosom saved Calico Jack from a concussion as they landed, but that isn't to say that the experience was comfortable for him.

Wind knocked out of him with an audible, "Oof!" he needed a moment to recover from Cheshire's affection. But like a champ, he managed to croak out, "It's good to see you too, Cheshire." Nobody understood him though as he mumbled into Cheshire's cleavage. She released him and then propped herself up a bit. He was genuinely happy to see Cheshire, and he was smiling as he was released from the squishy prison, but then their eyes met. She was losing her battle with tears, and if he was to hazard a guess, they weren't tears of joy. His smile left his face, being displaced by a look of concern.

Finally, she spoke. But her tone was tempered was an intense force that figuratively floored the already literally floored man. "Don't. You. Ever. Scare me like that ever again." Then she did break down into sobs and she reformed her hug around his neck thus bringing his own head immediately adjacent to hers. Through her choking voice she whispered, "I was…afraid that…you'd leave me…alone…"

Las Vegas was well aware of Cheshire's eccentricities. But to be honest, he found them kind of charming for how genuinely she was able to pull it off. He had figured that her touchy-feely nature was just a part of this. But from that last admission, it all flashed into perspective, and he understood what drove Cheshire's desire for physical contact like now. She was alone and as rude as it was to assume anything, he had a sneaking suspicion that Cheshire's list of friends was pretty short. And he was on that list but didn't think to appreciate that. He really was a jerk. But nevertheless, he had a friend to console, and it was time to start atoning for his blindness. So, he whispered back, "I think I understand now…I'm sorry."

They shared a moment before Cheshire finally got off the man to let him return to his feet. But from nearby, Nashville's envy was going insane. Now she completely understood Belfast's warning about waiting too long. Even though it was true that while her and her commander would move on while Cheshire would stay in the UK, Nashville still had to play it very carefully. She would have to take the reins for when her and Las Vegas went out to do that "normal stuff" they agreed on earlier, so that she could make sure that he is more focused on her than anyone else.

Nashville's expression was apparent to those who didn't feel like paying attention to Calico Jack greeting Javelin. However, the few still paying attention to Calico Jack saw that while still very happy to see him, Javelin wasn't coming apart at the seams like Cheshire was. But following this brief exchange, it registered to the man that all eight who were there in the cult hideout was currently present on Nashville's quarterdeck. So, he took control of the situation and got everyone's attention with his request, "I can't help but notice that all who were there that night are here now. So, I need to speak with the seven of you."

Everyone knew who he was talking about. And as the group was separating to form more closely around the codebreaker, Queen Elizabeth gave her opinion of the matter, "I had expected that this would happen, so the remainder of my court and I shall show ourselves out. Have a wonderful day." So with that, Queen Elizabeth led Hood, Illustrious, and Prince of Wales down the gangway and off the dock to go about their day. Due to backs being turned, none that remained could gauge through facial expression how those who were leaving were taking this development of being excluded.

Turning back from having watched Queen Elizabeth and her companions in ignorance leave, he then turned back to the group and took a moment to look at them one by one. Javelin. Cheshire. Sheffield. Duke of York. Sirius. Belfast. And finally, Nashville. He smiled. He really couldn't ask for any better than these women to face down the terrors of The Deep alongside him. At least in the Royal Navy. He opened his mouth to give voice to his thoughts. "First, I want to thank all of you for your participation in what happened two weeks ago. Based on what I've seen or heard, I'd be awarding medals if I had the rank to do so. But more than anything else, I'm overjoyed that everyone made it out alive. We're lucky, especially considering that a lot of people didn't enjoy our good fortune." He then singled out one in particular among the women and he said, "Nashville."

"Sir?" she asked, surprised at being called on.

"I'm sorry that I haven't asked this yet, but did you explain everything about our operation to those who went with you? And did you stress the importance of secrecy?"

"Yes, sir, on both counts."

"Good. Thank you," he finished with his companion, but then he again addressed the whole, "I want to stress again that everything that happened is to only be discussed with the others in this group, or with the Supreme Commander."

He paused to take a breath, but that gave Duke of York time to insert a comment, "Her Majesty toiled for a fortnight lusting after information that thou hast ordered to elude her. She conceals it, yet she hath been possessed of an exceeding irritation over this." Murmurs of agreement followed Duke of York's evaluation.

Calico Jack let out his breath and he dragged his hand down his face. "I'm not surprised. She'll have to stay irritated for the foreseeable future, perhaps even forever. But I wager that she'll be more at ease if we succeed it what's coming. And about what's coming, stand by for more information. As you lot have probably guessed, we have to dig up our information ourselves. However, that's not what I wanted to talk about. I was told that none of you really remember what happened with the cultist in red?"

Heads shook as all the ship girls confirmed that they didn't remember much. A few noted that their wounds got worse or that they distinctly remember feeling like they were dying. But at the end of that, Calico Jack asked, "Just to make sure though. Everyone wants to know what happened right?" The answer came back to the affirmative, so Calico Jack took a breath and did his best to recall what had happened. He began from when he first noticed the footsteps overhead. He recounted the preaching of the cultist in red about saving humanity through the Sirens' own tech. The tale ended with him passing out. But the high points that he stressed the importance of were about the one called, 'The Deep Seer,' and the polluted wisdom cube.

A new silence hung thickly after the trip down memory lane. But after a few seconds, Sirius asked, "Did you leave anything out?"

"Just the minute details, like almost tripping over dead bodies. But that's the gist of what happened. At least, as I remember it."

"Any character with the name, "The Deep Seer," concerns me," voiced Belfast. A few shudders showed that she wasn't alone in that opinion.

"Agreed," concurred Calico Jack. "I bet that this Deep Seer is the source of all this. It looks like the way to finish the Heralds of the Deep is to get rid of the Deep Seer. Based on what little I know about how cults work, they typically don't last for long once their leader is out of the picture."

"Is there anything we can do to help with defeating the Deep Seer?" spoke Javelin for the rest present. Nods of agreement resounded from the Royal Navy Ship Girls.

Calico Jack smiled at the women's willingness to help. He found it refreshing to have people that could be relied on beyond just Nashville, Roscoe, and Hara. But still, he had to reply, so after looking at the facts of the situation, he said, "I don't think that it will be necessary for the time being. I was hoping to get the Supreme Commander's take on all this before forming any sort of strategy to counter this new threat, but I can pass on all of your names to him should your assistance ever become necessary again."

"And for the super weapon?" contributed Sheffield.

"Since all of you know pretty much everything, I intend to form the fleet to destroy the Siren super weapon from among you. The only other person that I can think of maybe needing is an aircraft carrier, but that has yet to be determined."

"Will all of us be going? You said, 'from among you,' not, 'with all of you,'" clarified Sirius. Her desires to participate in the hunt was apparent in her voice and expression.

He had to think for a few seconds on that one. As reluctant as he was to make tactical decisions this far out, he still found an answer. "It likely will be all of you. The enemy knows where we got our information from and will have had time to prepare. Even now, they're probably starting to sweat and are gathering their forces. And with time we'll likely be able to gauge how prepared they are with intercepted communications. I can get us close, but I expect a battle beyond just the super weapon."

Finally, Cheshire had a comment. "It must be nice," she began. Everyone turned to look at her as she finished her thoughts with, "…to have a codebreaker for a commander."

Now everyone turned to Nashville as if the comment was directed towards her. She nodded slowly and smiled sheepishly. "It's really nice. I kinda feel spoiled to be honest."

Las Vegas interjected himself before anyone could respond to Nashville. "Call me 'Captain Obvious' but it's to my understanding that getting killed is a leading cause of death in this line of work. So, why risk getting killed when you can avoid it?"

Nobody could argue with that logic. But there was more to the statement that was left unsaid. Aside from his own desires to live, Calcio Jack considered himself responsible for those following him, and as shown from what he did during the London Incident, he also wanted those with him to live.

The eight of them would pass a little more time together before they began to trickle out to accomplish their own duties that remained for the day. One by one, they had left until only Javelin and Cheshire remained alongside the Unionists. Javelin was just glad to be there, but eventually, she too had to go. However, before she left, she asked for a hug from Calico Jack. It was readily given, and Javelin began her own sniffles, but her tears actually did prove to be motivated by happiness. She was glad that he had survived and with a final pat on the head from the officer, she left with a smile and a wave.

Finally, Cheshire was all that remained. It was kind of ironic that the Cheshire Cat would be the last one to leave, what with how slippery the character in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland is. But it was a good irony. Despite her fickleness in day-to-day life, she proved to be loyal when it counted. This Cheshire Cat refused to abandon what was important to her—that being her owner. Even though she had spoken her initial thoughts to Calico Jack about his scaring her, there was more that resided in her heart. She had spent all of the past two weeks thinking about how she feels about him. She wants him to be her owner, and she wants to be his cat. But as much as she tried to figure out a more gradual way of accomplishing this, she couldn't think of anything. It seemed that she would have to be upfront with what she's feeling. But she couldn't be upfront with this right now. Cheshire wasn't blind; she could see clear as day that Nashville had called dibs on her commander. And the possibility of sharing owners seemed more and more of a fantasy, but even if she had to go against one of her very few and precious friends, Cheshire still had to at least try to get what she wants. But again, now wasn't the time. She'd have to find a time to speak with Calico Jack alone. Even though patience wasn't Cheshire's strong suit, Calico Jack was important enough to her that she'd manage. But there was one other thing that she had to say right now.

Cheshire took a breath that looked like she was about to take a plunge, or cross over some threshold to the point of no return. She was in a way, for she was dancing with what could be considered treasonous. She finally composed herself, and she met Calico Jack's curious looks head on. To his face, she said, "You're just perfect, y'know that~?" She tried to put in enough emotion as she spoke so that she could get as close to, 'I love you,' as she could. But Cheshire wasn't done yet. She offered to the man she wanted as her owner, "Thank you so very very much for giving me a chance when hardly anybody else would. I want you to know that no matter what the problem is, or even if you're up against the whole wide world, I'll fight for you. Because you're my owner!"

Calico Jack was taken aback by this declaration from Cheshire. For a moment, he was possessed by flashbacks concerning a few ship girls from the Eagle Union who said something similar. But the problem was that Cheshire's promise of loyalty to Calico Jack above all ease felt different. This felt…raw. It felt like much more went into this decision than he was privy to. Now why would Cheshire do this? He thought on this for a moment. He knew that he was important to Cheshire, and even in times before, she had surprised him with how attached she was to him despite having known each other for not much time at all. Were they friends? Obviously. But a strange possibility occurred to the codebreaker. Is it possible that Cheshire wanted more than just friendship? A significant part of him wanted to write this off as ridiculous. But another part of him wasn't writing this off completely. Then all of this began to be drowned out by how caught off guard he was with the possibility of Cheshire being into him. He didn't know what to think. And how could he? In a world that's increasingly catered to make self-gratifying isolation as feasible and attractive as possible coupled with his studies, is it really that surprising that he struggled to decipher women? He may have only known Cheshire for a few weeks—a decent portion of which was spent unconscious—but this conundrum was years in the making. The long-foretold event had come to pass. Technology had surpassed human interaction, and it bred a generation of idiots, with Las Vegas among them.

Nevertheless, Cheshire's smile was starting to fade from him musing about this for so long. He decided to handle this situation very carefully, lest he have interpreted something wrong or worse, he's correct about this. He said, "I'm honored, really, that you'd trust me so much. I don't know if I'll ever need you to go such great distance, and to be honest, I pray that things never get so bad. But I won't lie and say that it can't. So, I'll accept all the help I can get." Cheshire's smile returned and she crossed the already short distance between them to fix him in another hug.

A few more words on the matter would be said but Nashville wasn't paying attention anymore. She understood perfectly what wasn't being said and had turned away with a consuming rage inside her. It was tearing her apart and she hated it. She hated what Cheshire was doing to her. She hated was her commander was doing to her. But she couldn't bring herself to actually hate either of them. One was her friend. And the other was the man she loved. But one person that she could hate easily enough was herself. She hated that she was too cowardly to be open about what she felt. Because as more and more time goes on, she was fearful of a growing chasm that she might not be able to clear in order to get what she wants above all else.

Nashville stewed in this hurricane of love and hate, barely keeping it together when Cheshire offered her goodbyes to Calico Jack. He promised to get her a flash drive with his personal cypher on it. Cheshire saw Nashville's state, and she left, fearful that she might have lost a friend from what she just did. Hopefully she could get that friend back, because she still liked Nashville, and she even wanted to include the light cruiser if possible. But Cheshire knew the fundamental truth that goes, "All is fair in love and war." It seemed that Nashville had yet to learn that.

Calico Jack turned to his companion with a smile. This was one of the few times that Nashville wasn't able to genuinely return the smile. She was in too much pain. But still, she couldn't let him know that anything was wrong. Because right now, she didn't want a solution. She wanted time for herself. She forced herself to smile and she said as normally as she could, "Belfast left some ammo for your new pistol in the galley. So, how about you grab that and then we'll both get ready to meet with Roscoe?" Her attempt at hiding her pain failed, and he saw directly through the deception like it wasn't there at all.

"Sounds good to me," he answered neutrally. Then with some concern he inquired, "But uh, are you alright?"

"Just fine," Nashville forced out in a falsely happy tone.

Now was another time when, "just fine," meant that she wasn't fine at all. But he couldn't force her to say anything, so he concluded, "Catch you in a bit then. You'll know where to find me if you need anything." With that, he walked away for the galley. As he went, he was deeply troubled. Nashville was hiding something. It seemed that the more time he spent with her, the less he knew what she was thinking. All he could tell was that she was upset. But why? These sorts of things seem to be happening with increasing frequency and he had learned that she won't tell him when he asks. All the instances were connected, he could feel it. What he needs to do is start paying attention to what happens before Nashville starts acting like this. Was this crossing a boundary with his prying? Maybe. But he wanted so dearly to help her and be there for her. Because that is what he promised to her. Because that it what he wants to do for her. Unfortunately, he can't do that with his hands tied. So, he mentally noted down that this occasion was right after talking with Cheshire. But on the other hand, he could tell that whatever this is, she wants to take care of it on her own. Wow. This was confusing. He didn't know what to do because he didn't know what was going on. And he was caught firmly between what he thought was respectful and what he thought would help.

Suddenly his mind snapped to another harsh reality. As cruel is it was at the moment; he had his own impending problem. From what he understood, Cheshire all but confessed her love to him, and he has no idea how to respond. He didn't even know how he felt! He had to come up with an answer if it ever comes to a head, and Cheshire ever straight up says, "I love you. Do you love me back?" He was fearful of what might happen. Mathematics had officially failed the mathematician because matters of the heart are not governed by theorems and constants.

At the same time as he was leaving. Nashville returned to her cabin, and she silently cried because of the wall between her and her commander.

XXXXXXXX

The first ammo can was nearly full of .455 Webley revolver ammunition. The gunfighter remembered something that he had heard about a lot of surplus Webley revolvers. They can fit the Eagle Union's .45 ACP ammunition with modification that makes it difficult to reliably fire the original .455 bullets. He took out Watson from where it had been "concealed" in his waist band and inspected the revolver for what he had heard. As it turned out, Watson's cylinder hadn't been cut down in order to accommodate .45 ACP and he was glad to have an unmolested pistol in his hands. He seemed to also recall hearing that modified Webleys weren't safe to shoot because the explosion inside a factory made .45 ACP bullet is more powerful than the revolver was designed to bare. It was just a shame that .455 Webley ammunition is pretty much impossible to find. So, it looks like Belfast set him up with all the ammo he's ever going to see for Watson. Who knows how she managed to find so much of it?

He cracked open the second ammo can to find a few things. First, he picked up a leather holster. It had the expected belt loop, but he really didn't like it for it's other attributes. One, it was huge and utterly unconcealable. Two, it had a flap that fastened down to retain the pistol by covering it entirely. Drawing quickly would be impossible. The third attribute is what stung the most, and it wasn't the holster's fault. It had six loops meant to hold extra bullets. Extra cartridges are fine, what sucks is having to load a revolver bullet by bullet, even if it is a top-break Webley. He took out the holster and set it aside, but beneath it was a half-dozen small contraptions made of stamped sheet metal. He took one in his hand, and he identified what it was. It looked a speedloader that would let him load all six bullets at once into Watson. He looked at the side of the device and read, "Prideaux's patent revolver loader magazine," and then it listed what he thought was a patent number or a date. Now he definitely knew that it was a speedloader. But what he didn't know was that speedloaders existed around the time of First World War when the Webley Mark VI was being used. It took some fiddling, but he managed to load six bullets into the speedloader, then he opened Watson in his right hand, swinging the barrel down and exposing the six empty chambers. Prideaux's device came up in his other hand and after a quick alignment of bullets with chambers and a push, the speedloader snapped with the release of spring tension and all six bullets fell into Watson's cylinder perfectly.

"Okay. That was pretty satisfying," remarked the gunfighter to nobody. He then had a thought that made him continue, "I bet these'd be real handy on the Western Front for giving and receiving trench raids."

He made a final count of the speedloaders. There were six. He then noticed that there was a note on top of more ammunition. Flowingly beautiful handwriting that he assumed was Belfast's told him that there were 900 rounds of .455 Webley ammunition, but beyond that, it told him what he already knew. Namely the contents of the ammo cans and that .45 ACP was forbidden. She finished the note with, "Shoot straight. Be careful. Remember what you fight for."

It didn't register with him, but Belfast's last sentence was referring to the time he told her and Hood why he fought. More specifically, Belfast was referring to his unspoken devotion to fight for a certain light cruiser. He'd end up thinking more on this later, but for the time being, he stuck Watson back into his waist band all the while chuckling about there being six inches of steel in his pants. He neatly stowed everything back into the ammo cans to move them with the rest of his nine-millimeter ammunition. Picking them both up at the same time reminded him of the superhuman nature of ship girls. Nearly a thousand rounds of ammunition with some other odds and ends were really heavy. He began to get going and as he went, he complained, "Uugh. 'Become an officer,' they said. 'You won't just carry garbage,' they said." Call him paranoid, but he found the idea of storing ammunition and guns in his cabin to be not a terrible idea. Especially not with how things were now.

Nashville might not have been focused enough to feel the approach of her commander through her hull, but she definitely heard his footsteps as he crossed the passageway in front of her cabin to enter into his own quarters. Fortunately, he had been away long enough gathering his ammunition to allow her some time to "get it out," and be able to spend a few quality minutes feeling sorry for herself. As pathetic as needing to have a pity party sounded in her head, that really was what the doctor ordered, and she felt marginally better. At least she wasn't coming apart at the seams anymore. She took a few deep breathes, closed her eyes, and told herself something that she had come to believe during her time under Las Vegas. "I'm the captain of my own destiny. I'm in control of this ship," she mumbled to herself so that she could hear some encouraging words. With that, she splashed some water in her face and began getting ready to leave her hull.

At the same time, Las Vegas had to change into a khaki navy service uniform in order to meet Roscoe. As much as he wanted to just go casual, one doesn't simply enter the Supreme Commander's office in a tee-shirt and jeans. This meant two things. First was that thanks to the slimmer fit of his uniform, concealing Watson was nigh impossible. Watson is a pistol too grand to simply permit itself to be hidden. Secondly, with his new scars, it's very unlikely that he'll ever wear short sleeves in public ever again, so he donned an issued All Weather Coat. This let him kill two birds with one stone and he slipped Watson easily enough into one of the inner pockets. And after filling four of the six speedloaders, he dropped those into another pocket alongside Vorpal. With luck, London's summer weather of rain or the threat of rain would justify his coat. Nevertheless, he'd need to find a more permanent way to start concealing all his stuff than just a pocket. As he left his quarters, he spared a glance at Mr. Bond's weather forecast which showed that his hopes of raining weather were likely to come to fruition.

Nashville had already been out there waiting for him. For some reason beyond Las Vegas's understanding, ship girls didn't need to dress differently than what they usually wore for meetings such as this. Well, based on what Nashville had told him, it wasn't like there were explicit rules stating one thing or another, it was just that they weren't ever issued any sort of uniform. This left a decent number of ship girls with attire a tad too…uh…bold, to be considered appropriate for formal meetings. Something told Las Vegas that this fact wasn't any sort of decision decided by apathy or even practicality, but by lust. Even though he couldn't confirm that he still shook his head in disapproval. But anyway, Nashville had on over her normal dress a knee length coat, also in anticipation of rain.

The man noticed that his companion still didn't look like she was at one hundred percent. He really wanted to do something to make her feel better. But then something clicked in Las Vegas's mind. That last sentence from Belfast's note, "Remember what you fight for." He didn't know if Belfast was referring to Nashville specifically, but whatever the head maid's intentions were, Nashville is what came to his mind right now. He regarded his friend and she managed to get a thin smile to send in his direction. Instead of smiling back immediately, he began to say, "You know. Right after you had taken off from the pub, I had a bit of epiphany that I think you might want to hear."

Nashville's smile faded and with some hesitation, she bade, "Okay. Let's hear it."

He found himself looking off to the side as he went down memory lane, "Before I could get Javelin, Sirius, or Duke of York to come with me, Queen Elizabeth said something that really opened my eyes. Like, not in a 'How did I not see that truth?' kind of way, but it made me admit something that I knew yet didn't really want to acknowledge. I only have two things left that are of any value. I have a mission…" He paused for a moment to look towards Nashville and make absolute certain that she was looking at him in the eyes. "And I have you." He then laughed a little at himself and remarked, "Now I know that I have a habit of trying to find immediate solutions, and whatever is going on with you excludes me—probably for that exact reason—but I still want you to know that I'm always open to listen."

It seemed that Nashville would be cursed for the foreseeable future to have an emotional rollercoaster whenever she's in Las Vegas's presence, but for moments like this, she'd say that the ride is worth the price of admission. A new flow of tears came to her eyes, but this time, it was one of relief and warmth. She wiped her tears before they got out of control and she said, "I can't do the feeling justice. It looks like no matter how long I'm with you, I'll never get used to hearing stuff like that. It's nice…to have someone." She sniffled for a moment and then she straightened out her posture a bit and ordered playfully, "Now get over here."

"Oh shoot, now I'm in for it," he joked as he made the few steps to meet Nashville in the hug that she had ordered.

"Yeah, you sure are. You make a girl feel like this then you get to pay the price," she replied.

He might not have seen her face during this moment, but he could tell that she was smiling genuinely. Good. Nashville looks her best with a smile on her face. And over a few seconds, he could feel her begin to relax. Also good. He might not be able to fix her problem right now, but he can at least do this.

He was content to enjoy the moment, but after a few seconds, Nashville sheepishly requested, "I know that this sounds kinda funny after being together for this long, but when it's only the two of us, can I just call you, 'Las Vegas?'"

The answer was obvious, but it did come with a caveat, "I'm okay with that. But only if I get to call you, 'Nash,' in return."

When he called her that for the first time back in Miami, she was overcame with embarrassment at any sort of pet name. But now, things were different. Hearing him call her, "Nash," made her feel all sorts of warm and fuzzy inside. She loved it because it was born of a familiarity and closeness that she had yearned after for her life so far. But this was amplified because it wasn't just anybody calling her that, it was him; the man she loved. She broke off the hug and took a step back. With an ear-to-ear grin and a nod that showed no reservations, she consented, "Sure thing!"

The brightening of Nashville's mood was a good way to make Las Vegas feel better, so without any issue on his end, her smile was returned with equal intensity. He finally said, "Awesome!" Then with slightly less overt joy, he signaled that it was time to leave by saying, "We should get going to Roscoe though. We're burning daylight and we still gotta find him some pipe tobacco."

"Right beside you, Las Vegas," she sang out. Truth be told, he wouldn't have had it any other way.

XXXXXXXX

The man in the smoke shop had been keen to point out that tobacco is a tropical plant and with the war going on it's rather expensive to import into England. Well, there wasn't much that could be done about that, so after going through a gauntlet of questions aimed at ascertaining what kind of pipe tobacco Roscoe uses, the duo managed to get a tin of Peterson Brand premium aromatic pipe tobacco. Having left the shop, the duo concluded that it better be the best tobacco on God's Green Earth with that price.

With the side quest of gathering tobacco completed, the duo made their way for the Main Building of the Ministry of Defense. At the same time as they approached, they inspected the building for major damages. It seemed to be intact, but the most obvious difference was that it was so much more heavily defended. Before the London incident, there had been very limited overt presence of guards, at least outside, but now there were multiple checkpoints in the road going in front of it, same with the sidewalks on both sides of the road. Nobody was taking any chances anymore.

Fortunately, Uncle Sam came through for the Unionists because Las Vegas's issued All Weather Coat had a rank insignia. It still had his former rank of Lieutenant Junior-Grade, but it did the job to designate him as military, and with a quick flash of his military ID and dropping of his service number, he was able to get Nashville and himself into the building without any invasive searches. But like after the Battle of the Thames, urgency filled the air, and just like the times before, the same side desk was approached. The departure from before was that this time, the person behind it recognized the duo and simply confirmed that they wanted audience with the Supreme Commander.

Not long after, the expected Royal Marine arrived in the main lobby to escort the duo to Roscoe's office. The marine was obviously happy to see them and to be honest, the feeling was mutual. "Christ Almighty!" proclaimed the marine with a salute and then a handshake, "You made it after all! Two weeks with not showing up and we thought you were dead."

Las Vegas snarked back, "Yeah. Despite all efforts of getting out of the navy, I'm still kickin.'"

"Better luck next time, mate," offered the marine jovially. He then turned to Nashville and asked, "And how about you?"

"I'm tons better, thanks for asking. Did your unit pull through?" answered Nashville. Her efforts to be cordial bit off more than she wanted to chew.

"Most are alive but not all of us who survived made it out in one piece. You'll see that about half of us are new faces once we get to the office," informed the marine, now turned stoic from the question. But he did take the liberty to finally usher the duo out of the lobby and towards Roscoe's office.

Once things quieted down Nashville consoled, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's just part of the job," he pointed out. There was no arguing that and the trio made their way through the building until they appeared in front of a familiar door to Grayson Roscoe's office, or more specifically, to the office of Lieutenant-Commander Janice Larcom. Just as warned, there were a number of new faces among the guard detail, but those who knew the Union duo were as pleasant as professionalism permitted. A knock was given and then the door was pushed open by a marine to give the newcomers entry into Larcom's office.

The woman in question seemed to have been expecting someone else because her face was initially hardened into a stony expression that implied having to speak and work with someone she didn't want to. But she relaxed visibly and audibly when she identified who was entering. She smiled, but it wasn't necessarily directed towards those entering. Rather it was for her superior in the office behind her own. Seeing the Commander now being called, "Calico Jack," would be a huge morale boost to Roscoe as the days have been dragging on for the man after the crisis two weeks ago.

She offered, "It's a relief to see the two of you after so long. I was starting to worry."

"It's good to see you too, Lieutenant-Commander," spoke Nashville for the duo.

"We're glad that you made it. How've you been doing?" added on Calico Jack.

Larcom smirked and replied, "How I've been doing isn't important. He'll be glad to see you, but I've never seen Roscoe like how he's been recently." She was talking about how distraught the man had been with Calico Jack being in the hospital.

Calico Jack grimaced at that and remarked, "Yeah, that's what we've heard."

"Good," she affirmed, "Just so you know what you're walking into." Then she began to stand from her seat to escort them into Roscoe's office proper but halfway through the action she exclaimed, "Oh my! I nearly forgot!"

She sat back down in her seat and turned to the side in her chair. The sound of a numeric combination was heard, and she opened a locked box. Then she turned back to the duo and held out a very familiar pistol. She said, "This was the only weapon recovered that had fingerprints that we couldn't trace. Process of elimination says that this is yours, Commander."

Las Vegas had a big smile as he took Giovanni back into his hand. Like being with an old friend, it made him feel secure, even though it didn't even have a magazine in it.

Larcom got his attention again by saying, "I know that I should get you into the Supreme Commander's office first, but he already has a visitor in there, so I might as well take care of my business first. We, and by "we," I mean the Supreme Commander, the marine detail outside, and myself would like to be certain that you two aren't left wanting as far as materiel is concerned. Roscoe has insisted on body armor and the marines say that you need a "dressed-up" pistol and I get to make the list. So, tell me, what would you like me to appropriate for you?"

Nashville and Las Vegas exchanged a look and after a gesture or two, Nashville looked to Larcom and said, "We need more first aid supplies, like for medics in the field. Treating gunshots and cuts, stuff like that. Could I also get a training manual for how to use that stuff?"

"Absolutely," relayed Larcom, "Is there anything else for you?"

Nashville shook her head and that made Larcom look to Las Vegas to get what he wants.

Las Vegas didn't have a list prepared for the things that he wanted so he slowly began to list things as they came to him. "Well…Uuuhhh…I guess I'll start with modifications for my pistol. In case it hasn't been noted down, this is a Beretta 92G. I want tritium night sights, a few extended magazines, a silencer with the appropriate barrel to mount it, low-profile dococker levers, and…" Then he paused. He also wanted to have a lighter hammer spring to make the trigger pull less heavy, but a part of him remembered how close he was to shooting Nashville in the Gilded Lion Pub that night. A lighter trigger pull makes friendly fire much more possible, but it would also increase his accuracy.

Nashville saw the change in her commander's expression. Something was making him doubt himself and naturally, she felt the need to back him up. So, with an "ahem," to get his attention, she sent a thin smile and a shallow nod in his direction. She meant to convey that he can trust himself, and that she trusted him too.

He regained himself and continued with his list. "…And I want a lighter hammer spring. But I also want nine-millimeter hollow-point ammunition." Las Vegas's request for hollow-point ammunition was quite strange from a military standpoint. With the addition of a small cavity on the tip of the bullet, it expands to a width much larger than the bullet's normal diameter when it hits something. Ergo, a nine-millimeter bullet can leave a hole much larger than nine millimeters when it gets shot into someone, thus increasing theoretical firepower. But the projectile loses it's energy much faster so it doesn't penetrate nearly as far as standard full metal jacket ammunition. This hollow-point attribute is useful in a police setting as a method to limit overpenetration and collateral damage when shots are fired. The kicker is that expanding bullets have been declared illegal by international laws of war since the late 1800s.

Las Vegas was unconcerned by this little detail, however. To violate a law of war, a state of war must exist. And though there were hostilities with the Heralds of the Deep, war hadn't been declared on them. They weren't an army or any officially recognized state. They were just criminals and terrorists. And so, they would be treated like criminals and terrorists. Furthermore, since Las Vegas technically didn't exist, he was no longer beholden to fighting in the constraints placed on regular military. Or at least, that's what his conclusion was, but the fact is that he's not a lawyer.

"Is that all?" asked Larcom.

He wasn't done yet. "No. I also want a small flashlight and some hand grenades. Both flashbang and fragmentation, please."

"Holy shit," interjected Nashville. "I didn't realize that this was an action movie."

As tempting as it was to rebut with, "No, Nashville, this is a fanfiction," Las Vegas restrained himself and instead posed the question, "Is less firepower better than more? Especially if it's easily carried?"

The answer was obvious for a woman who is also a warship, so she nodded and conceded, "Okay then. Let's just be careful."

"Of course," he answered to her and then he spoke to Larcom, "That's everything that I can think of."

Larcom had been alarmed when hand-grenades were requested, but Roscoe explicitly stated that anything short of anti-tank weaponry was permitted, so she couldn't protest. Instead, she nodded and began to finish the list. But for a moment, she thought about adding something herself that might be useful for the Unionists. She considered what would contribute the most to aiding a ship's survivability. Well…Good damage control. While Larcom knew that ship girls are capable of some incredible feats of damage control on their own, they still had their limits, and were subject to luck. That left the Commander with no name. What good is one man in damage control? Larcom had an idea and she tacked one final thing onto the list. "Explosive Ordinance Disposal Manual," she typed, without saying anything to the man or woman in her office. Even if the manual was never used, at least the idea wouldn't stick in her mind to annoy her if she didn't add it.

Nobody knew it at the time, but making this addition was Janice Larcom's most significant contribution to the cause of saving humanity.

Once the list was done, she double checked that it had everything and finally she stood to escort the duo to the final door between them and the Supreme Commander, who still had his original company, by the way. But Roscoe's orders were absolute. "Nobody save God himself and maybe the Queen of England," as he had said, was above the importance of the Commander that Larcom knew next to nothing about and his ship girl subordinate. Time to test that.

Larcom knocked, opened the door, and stood aside to allow the duo to enter. She closed the door behind them and got back to work trying to hold more of Roscoe's original visitor's lackeys at bay.

Just as expected, Roscoe sat behind his desk, but he didn't look happy in the slightest. In one of the chairs directly in front of the desk sat a Royal Navy officer. Whoever this other gentleman was, he was dressed to impress and the number of stripes on the ends of his sleeves showed that he was a man of incredibly high rank. The man who Las Vegas used to be would become intimidated but working closely with a man who literally has the word, "Supreme," as part of his title, coupled with fighting a Jabberwocky and fighting alongside superhuman women did a good job of putting things into perspective. Whoever this officer was, he was just a man.

But this brief musing was promptly halted when Roscoe rose from his seat and called out, "My Boy! You're awake!" Now completely disregarding the other officer, Roscoe crossed around his desk and hurried across his office to meet his new guests. His earlier scowl was now forgotten, and a grand smile charted it's course across the man's mustachioed face. His hand outstretched to meet Las Vegas's own for a greeting handshake. "You're a sight for sore eyes!" proclaimed the wizened sailor as their hands met.

This greeting stood in very stark contrast to the first meeting between the two men. Salutes were forgotten despite the disparity in rank and circumstances dictated that these men view each other as something less formal than just commanding officer and subordinate. There was no stiffness based on propriety, but only familiarity.

Based on Roscoe's welcome, it really did seem like this was the best thing to happen to him in a while.

"Same to you, sir," returned Las Vegas, but with his excitement much less apparent than Roscoe's. He then added on, but with a more serious undertone, "Sorry to have kept you waiting."

Roscoe grew remarkably sincere as the handshake broke off and he said, "I would love to say, 'Take all the time you need,' but you know the stakes, and that time is against us. But seeing that you are back at it is the best news I have had since this whole fiasco began two weeks ago."

Nashville responded for her commander with, "Well, sir, we're reporting for duty."

In response, Roscoe nodded deeply and with a gesture to his desk he invited them, "Then please, take a seat. But first, I should introduce you."

While Roscoe led the way across his office, the Royal Navy officer finally stood from his seat to properly regard the newcomers. If Las Vegas were to hazard a guess, the officer was in his mid to late fifties, but the trim man looked unremarkable with his greying black hair and his brown eyes. Nevertheless, as the officer and Las Vegas exchanged gazes, both were able to glean something about the other. Las Vegas would describe the man as determined. The man thought that the still unnamed Eagle Union Naval Officer was clever.

Las Vegas and Nashville stopped beside the officer while Roscoe went around to the other side of his desk, and when he did, he finally began the introduction. "Admiral Sir Martin Arthur, this is Commander and Nashville." After a moment, Roscoe then offered, "Martin, these two are the ones mostly to blame for our victories in the Battle of the Thames and the London Incident." Then Roscoe addressed the Union duo when he said, "Admiral Arthur is our First Sea Lord."

Las Vegas was suddenly kind of intimidated. But still, he had to properly greet the superior officer. He snapped a salute and stated, "It's an honor to meet you, sir." Nashville followed suit but said nothing.

But for every part that Las Vegas was intimidated, Martin Arthur was equally so. Still, he saluted back and replied, "It's an honor for me as well." Then when the salutes fell, Admiral Arthur looked towards Roscoe almost out of awe, but then he turned back to the foreigners. He asked, "You're 'Calico Jack,' yes?" Calico Jack answered to the affirmative, then the admiral asked Nashville, "And you're a ship girl, correct?" Nashville likewise confirmed that as true.

Arthur proceeded to say, "I've been hearing stories about a stalwart Union Navy cruiser who is captained by a man rumored to be capable of magic. I've heard the facts, as much as Grayson will tell me, but it's hard to separate fact from fiction."

Neither Calico Jack nor Nashville knew how to respond to that but the silence that followed the admiral's comment showed that a response was expected. Las Vegas haphazardly threw out, "We're just doing our job, sir."

Initially, Arthur responded with a raised eyebrow and simply stated, "Well, carry on then." He looked at Roscoe and lamented, "I suppose that this is as good a time as any for me to leave, seeing as how you cannot be brought to see reason."

"There is much more at play than you realize Martin, but nonetheless, I look forward to chatting with you again," voiced the Supreme Commander.

Admiral Arthur began to leave but after gathering his hat from his seat he looked to Calico Jack and asked, "May I have your opinion?"

The Union officer looked to Roscoe for his sanctioning of the request. Roscoe consented with a gesture, so Calico Jack said, "Yes, sir."

The inquirer quizzed, "Do the ends really justify the means?"

After a few seconds of thought, Las Vegas replied, "Only if the means are justifiable by something besides the ends. Pyrrhic victory isn't a good enough justification for the losses if that's what you're asking. And that's completely independent of whatever defeat entails."

Admiral Sir Martin Arthur nodded and looked like he was deep in thought as he gave his final goodbyes to the other three in the room before he excused himself.

A heavy sigh allowed all of Grayson Roscoe's vigor to escape, and he sank into his seat while seeming to age decades in an instant. Without thinking about it, he reached for a drawer to inspect the status of a fate he had been dreading for the past few busy days. He pulled out a tin that had his favorite blend of tobacco. Prying it open teased him with just enough to hint at a nice puff of his pipe but not truly enough to sate his craving for a good smoke. Movement in the corner of his vision pulled his attention to Nashville as she leaned a little over his desk holding out a tin from a tobacco brand that he recognized well.

His soul returned to him, and with a grateful grin Roscoe reached out to accept the gift of pipe tobacco. It wasn't exactly his favorite blend, but it was pretty close to it, and it was even his favorite brand. "Thank you both, so much," he spoke sincerely, "You two have saved me once again." He pried open the tin and took a good long whiff of it's contents. His smile grew and his pipe appeared in his hand almost by magic. The old man felt at peace again. He might not be out of the fire yet, but with this simple pleasure and two of his best subordinates back in the saddle, he didn't have to be so fearful anymore. He began to pack his pipe for what amounted to be a small celebration of the occasion.

"Don't you think nothin' of that," ordered Nashville. "It's the least we can do for you puttin' up with us."

"Believe me when I say that you two are the easy part in all this," answered Roscoe.

"Except for the almost dying part?" pressed Las Vegas.

"Except for the almost dying part," affirmed Roscoe. He looked up from where he was packing his pipe to see that both of his visitors had shed their outer coats. His gaze naturally fell on Las Vegas's scars, but he decided to not comment on them. He continued, "You had me worried for a while there, Commander. When Nashville called me to tell me what had happened, I was more fearful than I had been in a long time that I ended up ordering somebody to their death. Heaven knows I have done plenty of that for one lifetime."

Las Vegas disagreed with his superior, "If I may, sir, I'd say that The Heralds of the Deep are to blame for what has happened, not you or I."

Roscoe sighed, "Please forgive me for burdening the two of you with this, but have you considered that maybe the Heralds of the Deep did what they did because your actions forced them into a corner?"

Despair and regret entered the consciences of Las Vegas and Nashville. Both recognized deep down that this was exactly the case. Nashville especially took this hard; she had scared the cultists into doing what they did long before Las Vegas arrived. She admitted somberly, "Sir…I…I think that I should be the one to blame for this. I rushed in first without thinking."

Roscoe had finally lit his pipe and he took a long draw from it. He spoke his mind on the matter, "It is tragic that it has come to this. Though we have been called to pass through such tribulation for victory, I do not think that taking blame is necessary, Nashville. War has changed, and nobody can have clean hands anymore. We all share the blame for what has happened. But alas, we caught them mostly unprepared, so that they could not act as an entire network, which I feel to be their aim. I am of the opinion that we came out ahead." He chuckled a little in the irony of his next words given the question of Martin Arthur, "We have been forced into this pyrrhic victory. But if the only choice is between victory at high cost and annihilating defeat, I think that the choice is obvious."

"True that," agreed Las Vegas. He agreed readily, totally willing and desirous to wash his hands of responsibility for that that had happened. But a part of him knew that there was no way to ever wash his hands of this. Thousands of people were dead, and that was his fault for not finding some other way to resolve the crisis when it came.

The supreme commander looked back and forth between the two people across his desk. He could see it in their eyes and expressions. They blamed themselves just like Roscoe wanted. There would be no official reprimand, but he could see that Commander and Nashville were both good people who wanted to do what was right. Figuratively lighting the fire under them was a good way to enact changes with how they do things. This thought led into what he said next, "You are probably wondering why I have brought this up." Both of Roscoe's visitors nodded and that was his queue to continue with, "Things could have been much worse. But at the same time, things could have been better. I am certain that the both of you have already come up with different ways that would have still accomplished the objective without extra civilian casualties. So, with all my authority as Supreme Commander of the Azur Lane Alliance, I order you two to find that better way. Chairwoman Hara has also added her authority to my own for this matter. Do things quietly if possible or use reasoning with the enemy if it still does the job. I just expect that what happened two weeks ago never happens ever again anywhere else. And if it does, I, or Chairwoman Hara, expect to have a detailed explanation of exactly what happened."

He had just ordered the impossible and he knew it. But he had to. By ordering the duo to keep crossfire casualties to zero, then at the very least they would be more cautious to get that number as small as possible. Neither Roscoe nor Hara could reasonably expect that The Heralds of the Deep won't do something like this again. Both high commanders had to begrudgingly agree on this when they had an aggravatingly vague conversation by telephone a week and a half ago. Roscoe's opinion had been and still was that perfect villains who have the vilest of dispositions that let them murder and destroy on an industrial scale are much more plentiful than perfect heroes that can save people on that same scale. Sad experiences in human history reveal that the tragedy of our species is that perfect villains are plentiful, but perfect heroes are practically nonexistent. So, humanity will have to rely on imperfect heroes—heroes who despite being unable to save everyone or everything, will expend every effort to do the impossible. The commander with no name and his ship girl companion were imperfect heroes, and that is what Hara and Roscoe were gambling on.

The Union duo exchanged a look and seemed to have a wordless conversation in less than a second. This dynamic born of familiarity made Roscoe smile a bit as he took a draw from his pipe. But Commander leaned forward with an air of seriousness as he said, "Yes sir. We'll make sure that something like this never happens again."

"Good. Thank you," the wizened man responded. "But now, I've spoken with all of the other six who took part in what happened that night, but now I want to hear what happened from you two."

Beginning from when they left Nashville's hull, the duo shared both of their experiences. Even though both glossed over their exact thoughts and words at the pub itself after the attempt on Las Vegas's life, they shared what happened with their groups and the story ended with Las Vegas's wrestling match with the cultist in red over the wisdom cube.

Grayson Roscoe remained dead quiet for the whole tale, finishing his pipe and then stowing it near the end. When silence returned to his office, he took a solid minute to gather his thoughts. But when he did, he began with, "It seems that we have found ourselves in quite a sticky situation. But with the addition of the final actions from the cultist in red, a few things are apparent. This threat is so much greater than we had ever supposed, and what is even worse is that it seems they are working with the Sirens instead of subordinate to them. Now there are two entities whose motives we know next to nothing of, and a conflict of interest between the Heralds and the Sirens seems imminent to me."

"I was thinking the same thing," echoed Nashville. "But my questions are about what they were doing to the wisdom cube to make it work for them and who this 'Deep Seer' is."

"What I want to know is how they got a wisdom cube or even know about them. The same goes for ship girls for that matter," added Las Vegas.

"All questions worth asking," noted Roscoe. "But none of the answers are to be found here. Rather, none of the answers are with me or within my reach. My authority has reached it's limit."

Las Vegas knew exactly what Roscoe was implying. He asked, "Where is the computer that was recovered from the Heralds' hideout?"

"On the table in the corner, over there," pointed Roscoe. "You are the only person I trust enough to look at it. It was shot, so I want you to look at it and use that 'talent for electronics' mentioned in your dossier to repair it, and then get all the information that we can take from it. I can get you all the repair parts. But with a functioning computer, that is still no guarantee that any of our questions will be answered. So, the absolute best that I can do for you otherwise is to write you a recommendation to Eriko Hara so that she can give you access to the Iron Blood's research into wisdom cubes. Maybe we can find out something about the Heralds' methods that way."

"We're not allowed access with a Writ of Commandeering?" inquired Nashville.

The supreme commander shook his head and said, "That is outside of the writ's scope. It is in no way an invitation to look at a country's closely guarded secrets and research. No Iron Blood officer or soldier in their right mind would let an Eagle Union Intelligence Officer have access to sensitive information like this. To do this will require direct authorization from the Axis Chairperson or Iron Blood High Command. The tier seven security clearance you two have might do the trick, but that would attract Hara's attention anyway, so we might as well make this as legitimate as we can, as a show of good faith to the Crimson Axis."

"It's good that we have a good relationship with Hara, that's for sure," opined Nashville.

"Indeed," drawled Roscoe. "But anyway, I can start putting together the physical document that you should present to Hara to access the research. I assume that you will speak to her face to face in Iron Blood territory once all is complete here?"

"Yes sir," answered Las Vegas. "And while you draft that, would it be a bad time to look at the computer?"

"That was my hope."

With that, they separated to different parts of the office. Beside the computer was a tool bag with all the things needed to crack the device open. It turned out that it had been shot right into the front of the casing. It looked like the shooter didn't know exactly what they were aiming at, because based on what Las Vegas saw from the outside only the disk drive had been destroyed. Even though he'd have to look inside to make an accurate assessment, the prognosis so far was positive.

A few minutes passed with the men working, and that made Nashville feel left out. So, she did what felt most natural and filled the empty space directly beside her commander while he worked. She watched him undo a few screws and he had to practically tear off the computer casing because it had been bent in a few places from rough handling. She asked him, "So, I know that you've been to college an' all that, but where did you learn how to fix computers?"

Las Vegas grinned nostalgically and while he was carefully peeling off the casing he said, "Computers is my dad's hobby and for years, he used this kind of stuff as his excuse to try and teach me a quote-unquote 'practical skill that they don't teach you in school.'"

Nashville remarked, "That's a weird father-son pastime right there. Why not just throw a baseball back and forth like normal people?"

"Dad graduated college but couldn't find a job with his degree. He ended up getting a career with his hobby. And when twelve-year old me announced that he wanted to study math, my dad wasn't too confident that I'd get a job with that, so he decided to show me a thing or two about what he knew best."

"What kind of twelve-year-old decides to study math?" she wondered aloud.

He chuckled as he started to inspect the damage inside the computer, and he answered, "A weird one that doesn't have anywhere else to be or anything else to do. Besides. Video games. And I always had good computers to play them on." He omitted talking about a lack of friends at the time. The year earlier, his greatest childhood friend had moved away, but she never did reappear years later during high school. Only God knows if she turned out to be hot. But anyway, it would be another few years before he found a talent for pistol shooting.

Instead of responding to what was said, Nashville stayed quiet because she felt dread well up within her from what she saw inside the computer. It looked bad inside. If this was their only way to get information from the hideout, then it was her fault for not being fast enough to protect the computer from the cultist. But she was broken from this when her commander spoke up loud enough for Roscoe to hear, "It looks like all the data and more important bits are undamaged. We'll still need some parts to bring this to full operation." Like he had expected, the CD driver was shot and behind it the power supply was destroyed. But fortunately, the gunshot missed the hard drives, and the motherboard was unscathed.

Simultaneously, Roscoe and Nashville sighed audibly. The former responded, "Excellent! If you prepare me the list of items, I can get those for you. I am almost done with the message to Hara explaining why looking at Iron Blood research is necessary."

"I'll get right on that while you finish up, sir," complied the codebreaker. He found a pen and a piece of paper and began to make the list. In the grand scheme of things, it was rather short, and it was done in what felt like no time. And when it was complete, he stood from where he was in front of the computer to go back and sit down at Roscoe's desk with the list in hand.

The message to Hara was sealed into an envelope and the two men exchanged their papers. Both inspected what they received. Most of the items on the list given to Roscoe didn't mean anything to him. According to his understanding, all the techno-mumbo-jumbo might as well have been written in Greek. There wasn't anything to look at on the blank envelope given to Las Vegas. But once the inspection was complete, the superior officer said, "You two have done a good job so far. I expect more of this. But…" He paused and swallowed. It looked like what he wanted to say next wasn't coming out easily. "I must ask even more from you even though so much is already expected." Neither of the duo responded, deciding to listen instead of speaking. "The last time we spoke of The Heralds of the Deep in this office, I had promised to get some people to look into them. Nothing has turned up. Absolutely nothing, which is unheard of for investigations I order, so I expect treason somewhere in our midst. I'll take care of this suspected treason, but sill, I have called off that investigation to put our enemies at ease, and now I want to turn the matter of The Heralds entirely into your hands. Based on what the cultist in red said, it looks like you two are the crux in all this. Intuition tells me that information will come to you long before me. I want you to destroy the Heralds of the Deep."

Nashville's eyes widened and Las Vegas's face became acquainted with his palm. "That's not what we had been hoping to hear," pointed out the codebreaker. The man that he used to be began to show his colors. That old him was upset that there was no easy way out.

"I know," Roscoe consoled. "But it must be done."

While Las Vegas was unknowingly entertaining old vices that he thought he had rid himself of, his companion was stepping up to the plate. She had found ways to instill courage and hope in her commander, and she would do it again. She reached out to give her commander a pat on the back. He took his face out of his palm and he looked at her. Her radiant smile brought peace to the storm in his mind, and he was filled with assurance that no matter what happened along this path, they would be together. His doubts fled in the face of her certainty. He smiled back.

Nashville took that as her signal that her commander had brought himself back together, but she still took the liberty to speak for both of them. "We'll take care of it, sir. They won't know what hit 'em."

Roscoe had been touched by this display of camaraderie. Seeing how good the dynamic between Commander and Nashville was made him confident that they would be able to carry out his order to take care of The Heralds of the Deep. He said, "Without question. It will be difficult, but you two are starting to build a reputation."

"A reputation, sir? I thought we were classified?" wondered the light cruiser.

"It is like how Admiral Arthur said. Stories are starting to circulate about a ghost cruiser from the Eagle Union that can stand head-to-head against battleships, and likewise there are growing rumors about a man called, 'Calico Jack,' who capable of magically delivering victory. Stories are even more interesting among Royal Navy ship girls exclusively. The stories involve inexplicable appearances and disappearances with a touch of mind-reading and control, to say nothing about mythic abilities with a pistol. Some say that it is impossible for it to be just one man or one ship girl. Others seem to think that the stories are an elaborate prank. But that is only in the Royal Navy, based on reports from the Eagle Union Navy, tales and rumors about "The Magician" are being passed around like a plague, among both ship girls and regulars. It looks like there are even stories appearing in the Iris Orthodoxy among their ship girls, likely as a byproduct of their closeness with the Royal Navy. For not officially existing, you two have become quite famous."

The codebreaker spoke first, "Is this a bad thing?"

"Not anymore," dismissed Roscoe, "In fact, these stories are starting to improve morale. They're making people believe again, and we are beginning to see marginal improvements in a few different theatres of the war. But marginal improvements will rapidly grow when the superweapon blocking the way between here and the Americas is dealt with, and I can finally grant Admiral Arthur's and the Union's Chief of Naval Operations' demands for an offensive to link up the old world with the new."

"We have our work cut out for us," observed Nashville.

The supreme commander acknowledged, "That we do. But I have full confidence that what lays ahead of us can be overcome. Even though unsung and unknown, I expect you two to light the way."

One last glance was exchanged between the codebreaker and the light cruiser. They shared a moment of united purpose and then both looked back to their superior. Las Vegas affirmed for the both of them, "You can count on us."

I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and I'm pretty happy about how it turned out. I hope that all of you liked it too. The biggest thing that surprised me was the segment with Cheshire because I'll admit that I was going to wait a little bit longer before doing anything with her but I'm glad with how things are going right now. Besides, that juicy drama is what all of us are really here for. I don't really have that much to say otherwise about the chapter. I'm just getting hyped up to move forward into the final stages of this arc in the next few chapters or so. Anyway, I see some comments that I need to respond to.

What's up, SomeRand0m? It's always great to see your writing and your input really does help me out. But I'll get to how in a bit. First, I'm glad that you caught the Incredibles reference. It's a classic for sure. Yes, the Deep Seer is human, and they have been human from the very beginning when I first thought of The Heralds of the Deep. The question now is, "Who is the Deep Seer?" You bring up a good point about them being like Las Vegas though. The concept behind The Deep Seer is to have a villain that takes the hero seriously from the beginning, so that we don't have to waste time with the villain saying, "Oh, we don't have to do anything," or worse, "Let's try and recruit this hero to our evil cause." The Deep Seer is confident, and though it hasn't been shown yet, they're ruthless too. Yes, the knight guardian is Mordred. It's just that "guardian" is what the Sirens call the superweapons. Part of the fun of the Deep Seer is giving them the same weakness that Las Vegas has. Both of them are far too accustomed to being correct. So, the gradual deconstruction of both their realities will be very interesting to see. In the defense of Las Vegas, I don't think that he's dense quite yet. As you may have noticed, I very much prefer to progress the relationship slowly and thanks to your comment helping me out, I feel like I was able to address this topic in the chapter. Cheshire never suggested a harem. She just thought to herself that she'd be open to the possibility. Will others fall for Las Vegas? It's very likely. No sweat man, it's okay for men to feel things, even if those things make them cry. The next chapter (the date chapter) is going to be a particularly interesting one because I really look forward to showing the development in these characters from the events of the past few chapters. I still have to dive into the effects of trauma on Las Vegas. I'm happy that you seem to be liking the drama, let's hope that continues. Nashville can feel people as they move around her hull, and she can feel what they are doing. But she can't hear or see what's happening. All ship girls are like this in this story. The other survivor hasn't been introduced yet, but I do intend for them to play a role. The point of the bandana, gloves, and dagger is to make him intimidating. Instilling fear into cultists would be fun, right? You miscounted the vote. Belfast won by one. The Jojo references are gonna be great. I can't wait. Thanks for your understanding as far as upload schedule is concerned. I love to write, and for me, it's a good thing to focus on that isn't just math, you know? Good luck with your studies though. For your second language, you do a pretty good job. Mordred is still out there. It needs to be defeated and then I already have the perfect transition into the Iron Blood arc that will take an extra chapter or two beyond that. Thanks for the well wishes, university is going well so far. I'm glad that you liked the chapter, and you make a really good point about there being different kinds of Heralds out there. Not all of them are like the cultists we've met so far. But they'll become important with time. Take care of yourself. The date chapter is coming soon.

Hello, Zander22122. I gotta say, you're the first person that hasn't gotten on my case about not having seen ATLA. Thanks for that. Thanks for explaining the cosmic cube too. When it comes to everything except the movies, I've always preferred DC to Marvel. Batman is totally my favorite superhero. Come to think of it, it would be kind of funny if we could meet Reno at some point, would it? You're right, I've never heard of that book. I might look into it at some point though. Just for the sake of an easy explanation, I'll say that Nashville saw both Hell's Kitchen and Master Chef. Metal Gear is iconic. I recommend the series highly. I think that it's interesting that you mention Watson though. You see, I was considering the name "Lawrence" after Lawrence of Arabia, but given the nature of Watson to Sherlock Holmes, that's what felt more appropriate to me. My dad saw reruns of Star Trek the original series when he was a kid, so when they showed up on Netflix, he sat me down and we watched the whole series. So, with that, I must respectfully disagree with you and assert that Kirk is best. I will die on this hill. A funny story just came to mind, so I'm a teacher's assistant for a professor in my university, and one day he told me that while he was in college in Southern California in the sixties, most of his classmates when to protest the Vietnam War, but he and his buddies went to go picket NBC for a third season of Star Trek. What a Chad. Anyway, I'm glad that the outlaw look isn't lost on you. It's also great that you mention the self-awareness. I have always found those jokes to be funniest, so I like to put them out there. Charge of the Light Brigade is a pretty good one, and of all the poets that I was forced to write essays about in high school, I always found Robert Frost to be the most tolerable. But I will still tip my hat to you and say, "You have good taste."

Hi, Touhoufanatic. It'll be an event when he uses the blade for the first time. A hot knife through butter is what comes to mind. I intend for QE to be kept in ignorance. But this is possibly subject to change, so maybe? We'll just have to wait and see.

Greetings, DearUncleHermit. So, uh, you wouldn't happen to be the kind of person who stops reading a story if there are too many mistakes, are you? I mean, there's nothing wrong with that, it's just that this is the impression that I'm getting from you. Correct me if I'm wrong. I don't feel pressured by people, but my myself. Let me explain. Something that I learned over the summer is that if I take too long to write a chapter then that really makes it hard for me to get ideas to flow in the long run. So, if I can consistently write a chapter, that lets the ideas flow, and the chapter seemingly writes itself and the end product is better in my opinion. I don't want to force myself through the bad experience it was to take a month and a half to write a chapter. So, getting them out at a pace of about once every week and a half to two weeks is what's working for me. Even if there are mistakes in grammar and spelling, I'd rather have interesting and coherent ideas in my word document. I won't deny that I make mistakes, but I decided to spend an extra day to edit this chapter. Does it show? Anyway, I definitely intend for fights to be different from here on. I found out that juggling two groups at the same time is a real drag, so I hope to use that as a learning experience to make things better in the future. The escalation of the Deep Seer's conflict with Las Vegas will be a driving force as the arcs go forward. But I also really look forward to doing stuff with the relationship between the Heralds and the Sirens. And that is completely independent of what the Sirens themselves are doing. There is so much more content to cover, and we've already crossed 300000 words. We're in for a long ride. Thanks for the review and for reading. I hope to keep you around.

Hey there, Prometheus-23. It's been a while. Thanks for wishing me luck. Same to you. So far, nothing has fallen apart on my end, and I have enough time on my hands to get a chapter out. Speaking of which, you had pretty good timing with posting your comment only earlier today. I hope that everything is going well for you on your end too. So, maybe it's the same for you, but I've always found that I have to have at least one super annoying class every semester. I'm kind of stressed out because for three weeks of classes, it's still not obvious which is the annoying class yet. But enough about classes and such! We're here for some good old-fashioned escapism! I'm really glad that you've enjoyed the work so far. I sure have and this story is on my thoughts constantly. I hope that it continues to captivate the imagination and can keep you coming back whenever I post a chapter. The coffee will become important later on. The Royals might not like coffee that much, but there are a few other ship girls from other factions that are quite fond of the stuff, so that's the foot in the door for Las Vegas. Thanks for reading and take care.

It's starting to get late where I am, and I have classes in the morning, so I should get some sleep. I have no more to say so I won't keep you much longer. Take care, friends. If you're having a bad day I hope it gets better, and if you're having a good day I hope it gets even better.