Thanks to all who have read, favorited, followed, and reviewed this story. Double thanks for sticking around this long to see what's gonna happen. So, let's get into it, shall we?

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

"I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I'll go to it laughing."

-Herman Melville, Moby Dick

Chapter 28: The Wakeup Call

How does one extend a single day off into two? The answer: Drink enough alcohol for three people. Such was Nashville's strategy. But as Isaac Newton's third law of motion states, "For each action there is an equal and opposite reaction."

Ergo, when Nashville found herself shaking off unconsciousness to return to the land of the living, she was enjoying the hangover of three people. "Uuuuuggggghhhh," she vocalized to give sound to her misery. She rolled over onto her stomach in an attempt to filter out the light coming through the cracked open porthole in her cabin. Or at least, that was her intention. What ended up panning out was that given her proximity to the edge of her berth she flopped onto the ground pathetically with a brief "eep!" of shock and her painful existence became even more extreme by orders of magnitudes.

A clanking sound of sheet metal banging on the ground rang in her ears. The first magnitude of pain was that she landed on the steel bucket meant to help her, and it's noise from being forcefully displaced by her semi-limp form didn't help either. The second magnitude was that she had landed on her back right where the sun was streaming through the porthole. It felt like she was getting flash blindness slowly and she clamped her eyes shut. The third magnitude, and by far the worst, was that she hit her head on the deck in her fall.

With eyes clamped shut and hands cradling her head, it was safe to say that Nashville was in a world of hurt. But her situation was just about to turn much more dire. The sudden agitation of her stomach made it start doing backflips. Backflips was putting it lightly. It felt more akin to rolling a car. She needed the bucket. And now.

Nashville forced her eyes open despite the light and she frantically searched for the bucket in the few seconds she had left before disaster. There it was! Under her desk! She scrambled comically for the receptacle. And right before the battle was lost, she got a hand on it, and no sooner did she bring the bucket in front of her than she saw to it that it served it's purpose.

Once she was done, she leaned herself against her desk and spent a few good seconds feeling sorry for herself. She thought that the last time this had happened, she promised herself to not get this drunk ever again. Maybe? She really couldn't remember that well. But if it did happen, then so much for that promise. She'd really have to get Las Vegas to keep her from drinking so much in the future. But that sort of thing comes later, if there was a bucket beside her bed, that meant that Las Vegas had gotten her to her cabin again, and that likely meant that the next step to fixing her predicament was in a glass sitting on top of her desk. She only had to reach a little in order to get the much sought-after glass of water. It disappeared in record time. But now she was at an impasse. She smelled terrible—a mixture of alcohol and now vomit. She really needed to shower and change her clothes from the day before. But at the same time, she really, really, really wanted some of Las Vegas's ultra-strong-hangover-busting coffee right now, not to mention another glass of water, or five.

With that last thought, she became keenly aware of the fact that it wasn't Las Vegas who woke her up. What was he up to? She felt around her hull looking for him, and she found him in the second place she looked after his cabin, which was the bridge.

She considered the pros and cons of each option for cleaning up first or getting coffee first. She decided to send a message asking for coffee first. The message she sent to the radio on Las Vegas's device was, "Need coffee. The strongest you got."

She didn't hear it, but on the bridge the man in question was having a hearty laugh at the wake-up message. He sent back, "Need time. Meet you at your cabin in twenty minutes."

Ok, so that threw off Nashville's original plan of getting coffee before showering and changing and she didn't feel like wallowing on the ground for twenty minutes. Might was well get that shower over with. She permitted autopilot to take over as she went entered into her personal head, stripped, and stood under the water as it fell. A nice benefit of only having two people aboard a ship meant for hundreds meant that there was no real reason to ration water, and right now, that fact coupled with warm water taking the edge off her headache made the minutes tick on by.

What made her return to the present was the feeling of her hatch being knocked on. "Awesome! Coffee time!" she thought to herself. She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. She then did as she always does. She ran a towel through her hair to stop it from dripping and she wrapped a towel around herself to stop the rest of her from dripping so that she would be able to change inside her cabin itself.

But there was a problem that was about to explode in her face. With her fixation of coffee to aid her hangover and the fact that she was still on autopilot meant that her faculties of judgement were impaired as if she was still drunk.

She skipped the getting changed part and kept the towel around her as she went for the hatch to get that oh-so-good coffee. Rather than having clothes on the mind, she was more bracing for the squeaking of the hatch's hinges that would no doubt be the worst part of this whole experience.

She opened it to greet her commander and thank him for coming through for her again.

Las Vegas spoke first as the hatch had reached halfway open, "Hey, Na…" He as cut off by what he saw when the door opened fully. There stood his friend in naught but a towel! Not to mention a towel that was very tightly wrapped around her and did a very good job in it's own right of highlighting her curves. Curves which had to have been carved by angels in his opinion. Like seriously. Talk about unrealistic body standards. Then there was the added problem of a straight man's imagination. While it's form fitting nature did give hints, he still found himself pondering what might be concealed underneath.

Nashville was tipped off to the fact that something was very wrong when she saw her commander go bright red and avert his eyes from her. Her body had lapped her mind, but with that, her mind slingshotted to catch up with what she had just done. Needless to say, she was rather embarrassed to show herself to her commander like this. She eeped for the second time today as she quickly hid herself behind the door so that only her head poked out from behind it. "G-g-good morning," she offered meekly.

Now it was his turn to notice just how red she had become. He held out a familiar tumbler full of her awaited elixir in one hand and the other had a few pain pills. With one hand, she first accepted the pills and then the tumbler. While she did this, he responded to her in a soft voice to be mindful of her aching head, "It's, uh, afternoon actually. I can get a late lunch together while you finish up here."

She nodded quickly in agreement hoping to end this mortifying experience as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, this quick nod only had the effect of making her head throb again. She grimaced and said, "Okay. I'll see you at the galley when I'm ready."

"Cool. See ya in a bit," he concluded, and he turned to leave at the same time as she was closing the hatch.

Nashville screamed internally, "How embarrassing!"

Las Vegas walked away in a stupor of sorts. He was going to have inappropriate thoughts about what had just happened. So, he got to work getting himself under control, namely a very particular rush of blood southward. It didn't look like Nashville noticed, so he might have gotten away with it. But really, the only way to tell for sure is if she mentioned it later. Whatever the case may be, he decided that he won't talk about this if she won't.

Fortunately for him, Nashville made that same exact decision at about the same time as he did.

With a hangover that was now compounded by extreme embarrassment, Nashville got dressed into her normal dress. And as she was finishing putting it on, she tried to justify what had happened. She asked herself if there really was any difference between what is covered by her towel versus what is covered by her normal dress. It was as she was standing in front of a mirror fixing her hair into the new ponytail that she had learned the day before that it struck her why it was embarrassing. Panties. She didn't have any on in her commander's presence. While the towel did indeed conceal her breasts, at the right angle, there would be no hiding what was in the open air. Nashville watched herself redden again in the mirror as she realized that. She really hoped that her commander hadn't thought of that. But with that penetratingly embarrassing thought, she finished tying her hairbow and she left to go to the galley.

She was wrong, of course. He did indeed think about what was hidden underneath Nashville's towel-skirt and that is what he was presently trying to get out of his mind. He endeavored to be respectful to Nashville; first because she was his friend, not a piece of meat. Secondly, the principal requirement of being respected by women is to respect women. Respecting women being doubly important because he works almost exclusively with them these days. For the first time in his life, he envied gay people. If he was gay, he wouldn't have to deal with stuff like this happening with him being surrounded by women among whom physiques like unto or surpassing super models was the norm. But alas, he was not, and it would be an insult to everyone to try and be something that he's not.

He found his mental escape route suddenly as he stood there fixing the late lunch. He might not be gay, but thoughts of homosexuality came to the rescue. He latched onto the question; "How common is homosexuality among ship girls?" Because when a bunch of people of a single gender are put into close quarters in stressful environments fighting a common enemy at least a few are bound to discover that they are gay, right? He hadn't seen any of that among the ship girls that he had met so far. He tried to consider any signs of such attractions. Another dimension of the question presented itself. All of these women were from a time when any sort of sexuality besides heterosexuality was heavily censured. Not to say that that censorship has ended. But still, there were gay people in the forties, so there's gotta be at least a couple among ship girls.

As he was trying to come up with instances to give a conclusion to his question, something occurred to him. What if Nashville was gay? That thought made him much sadder than he would even admit to himself. Nevertheless, he stewed in thoughts such as these for a few more minutes.

While she walked for the galley, sipping from her tumbler of healing coffee, Nashville tried her very hardest to take a page out of her commander's playbook and figure the chances of him wanting to talk about what had happened. She knew that he wasn't the type that liked to leave things unsaid, but at the same time, she recalled the times when her teasing would make his eyes go wide and make him stammer like the geek he was. She successfully comforted herself because she figured that the chances of him wanting to talk about what happened was low. Yep. What a geek. Her geek.

That final thought dropped her off at the open door into the galley and she peered inside, finding him easily. He wasn't paying attention and he hadn't noticed her. But she saw that he had his troubled expression on his face. So, without thought, she decided what she needed to do to cheer him up. It was something that she had never done before but she had seen Cheshire do it, so it had to be alright. She smiled that he kept his back turned away from her as she tried to sneak in high heels until she was right behind him. He set something down and she put her plan into action.

She reached under his arms and fixed him in a surprise hug from behind. He gasped a little, having been completely taken by surprise, but before he said anything, she chirped as loudly as the steadily lessening pain in her head permitted, "Thanks for coming through for me, Las Vegas! You gotta be the best commander out there!"

Since it was in her voice, he managed to calm down quickly, but his first thought after confirming that it was Nashville was a question. Are surprise hugs just something that women do with their friends? He didn't know, and something told him that Nashville didn't know either, because the only people that he had ever seen her embrace was her sisters and him. He bantered back, "Am I good enough to get one of those snazzy "World's Best Commander" Mugs when Christmas rolls around? No problem for the help, by the way."

"I'll see what I can do," she answered and then she tacked on, "and if you're good, I might even throw on a 'Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas' T-shirt." She then let go of him and she took a step back to let him turn around. He did so and let out a small sigh of relief that she was fully clothed. She saw this act but decided to not comment on it.

He responded, "Well, shoot. Finally, something to look forward to."

Those words had an unforeseen effect upon the light cruiser. Her brightening mood took a sudden turn and she became painfully aware of the fact that she doesn't have anything to look forward to in the future. If she survives the war, she thinks it very unlikely that the Eagle Union Navy or Azur Lane will just let her leave because at the end of the day, she's still a significant military asset, no matter how human she feels she is. She tried to hide her expression, not wanting to chase out the nice and warm fuzzy feeling she had from giving her commander a hug or being able to talk about silly things with him.

On the other side of this, there was a man who could see that his friend was suddenly saddened. He crossed the single step and before Nashville could properly react, another hug was given. Based on his experiences, it was the best way to cheer her up. Still, he asked, "Did I say something?"

She considered lying, but she decided that dodging this wouldn't help her. She pointed out, "I don't have anything to look forward to. I don't think that the navy will just let me go if we survive the war."

He thought on that for a few seconds. What he wouldn't give to actually be a magician. What he wouldn't give to be able to just snap his fingers and make everything alright. But he was just a man. He couldn't see the future or his influence on it. He couldn't formulate words that he was sure would comfort his friend so, he just opened his mouth and he forced himself to speak. "I don't know what will happen once everything is said and done. I just know that we only have two things. First, we have ourselves. We'll…I'll do everything in my power to see that you get to have a civilian life, just like yesterday, but permanent. And then we have hope that everything we do will make this possibility a reality. Please, don't give up hope Nash. It's too precious to just give away."

She wanted to believe everything he said. But doubt still suffocated her mind and she became acutely aware of fearful tears clouding her vision. She confronted the possibility that frightened her, and she choked out, "What if it doesn't work? What if what we do isn't enough, and all that hope is for nothing? What will happen then?"

More often than not, it's hindsight that reveals to someone the moments that dictated the course of their life. But there are exceptions. And right here, right now, the man with no name could tell that this was one of those exceptions. So, he considered his next words very carefully. Before he met Nashville, he had intended to simply serve for the duration of his contract and then return to civilian life. A part of him wanted to get his doctorate and then teach math in some university somewhere. He figured that he'd meet a nice girl and they'd get married and then live happily ever after, like some sort of fairy tale, as much as the corniness of that made him want to laugh at the absurdity of that all. But the reality of the situation was that as of right now, there was no girl, he hadn't tried to apply for any doctorate programs, and he still had years left on his contract anyway. It wasn't even guaranteed that he'd survive the war. But then there was the woman in his arms who had just confessed her fears to him. What about that?

Well, there was no way he'd be able to live with himself if he turned a blind eye to her plight. He realized that he didn't have any commitments to the future and to be honest, he didn't really have all that much to look forward to either. He remembered what he said to Nashville right before the talked to Roscoe two days ago. He only had a mission, and he had her. But once that mission is over, then it's just her. It seemed that in the end, she was his commitment.

He knew what he was going to say. He chuckled a little and he said, "You know, I was looking forward to getting out of the Navy… But it looks like I just became a career sailor." He took a breath to recenter himself before he continued, "If everything we'll have done up to that point isn't enough, and you aren't allowed to leave, then I won't leave either. I'll stick around for as long as I possibly can." Was this too much from him? Maybe. But he was the kind of man who firmly believed that you should never abandon your friends. Especially if they need your help.

He had one more thought as he stood there, and he gave himself one more impossible task. He had to find a way to get enough political influence to help not just Nashville, but all the others who may be despairing alongside her. Surely she isn't the only ship girl to harbor this fear? So, he decided that he'd find a way to get every single ship girl the world over a chance at a normal life. In his opinion, being a weapon is no way to live. They were alive, and it was his firm belief that all life should have the right to be free and choose their fates for themselves. So, he silently vowed that one day he would see them live as completely free women—the way it should be.

On the other end of this moment, Nashville was berating herself thinking that it was too good to be true. This had to be a dream and she began to internally scream at herself to wake up and get sober. As part of this waking up, she probed, "Are you sure?"

She figured that if this was a dream he would say, "Just kidding," or something like that.

That's not what she heard. Instead, he softly said, "Yes, I'm sure. One-hundred percent certain. I don't have anything outside the navy that needs my attention. So, I'm perfectly fine with staying, that is, if you're okay with it? I don't want to impose or anything."

Despite the softness of his voice, there was another quality that Nashville struggled to identify. Certainty? Sympathy? Willpower? But regardless of what it could be, tears of fear turned into tears of joy, and she nodded against where her face was buried in his shoulder. "I'd love for you to stay," she whispered haltingly through sniffles.

It turned into a moment where words didn't need to be said. They just stood there enjoying it while it lasted. And last it did, for several minutes Nashville basked in the feeling of togetherness. She was able to get her sniffles under control and she noticed for the first time that her commander smelled really nice. But the moment was broken when Las Vegas thought of one last thing to add on. He remarked, "And no matter what happens with us after the war is over, I just thought of something that you might be interested in looking forward to. Because I would definitely look forward to it."

Nashville's curiosity was piqued. She bade, "Let's hear it."

"Even if it stays gone forever and I'm forbidden to ever use it, would it be alright if I tell you what my name is after the war is over?"

This was a circumstance that was incredibly rare among people. Normally, the exchanging of names is one of the first steps of any face-to-face acquaintanceship, but since these two people had been deprived of that, the ability to exchange names at some future date proved to be an incredibly intimate possibility. Nobody on the whole face of the Earth understood this fact better than Nashville, for this was something that she lusted after for quite some time now. She felt like with time, she had learned what Las Vegas is and what he stands for. In as few words as possible, he was a good man, no, the greatest that she knew of. But she still didn't really know who he was. And she felt like with a name, that final question would fall into place, and her love for him would be completed.

She felt like a person trapped in a desert who had finally found an oasis. "Finally," she sighed in relief, "Something to look forward to."

Las Vegas smiled. It felt like a burden had just been made lighter. It wasn't gone completely, but he felt like he would be able to manage carrying it forward. He agreed, "My thoughts exactly." He could tell that Nashville wanted to just stand there again, but he had to be the bearer of bad news, so he stated, "Lunch is done cooking. So, we should get to it before the pasta turns mushy."

Nashville wasn't happy to hear that, but her hangover was only being somewhat helped by the strong coffee that she had drank on the way over to the galley from her cabin, so it looked like it was time to eat.

They ended up skipping taking the food to the mess, instead just taking plates and sitting on the counter tops to eat. In between bites, Nashville asked, "So, what's the next step?"

"What? Not even gonna comment about what happened after you got drunk?" he lightly taunted.

She dug through her memory as best as she could and all she could draw forward was, "Uuuuhhhh. I remember something about Stalin, for some reason. But nothing specific. Did I ever mention that I hate communism?"

"You did actually. But that's not all. You know what they say: 'Actions speak louder than words.'"

Nashville looked up from her plate and she paled slightly. "What did I do?" she asked with dread in her tone.

"There we were, enjoying a pleasant evening inside a real-life London pub. You had probably gotten down enough ale for several people when I saw you glare at something over my shoulder. You saw a guy that you were absolutely certain was Stalin. Queue the Third Red Scare and my attempt to stop your misguided actions to quash communism. Luckily, nobody got hurt and you only thought that I was a 'commie-lover' for a few seconds. I'd call it a happy ending if it wasn't such a close call all things considered."

She grimaced during the entire recollection, and she admitted to the person she trusted the most, "It's a good thing that you stopped me. I might have actually killed him. Or at least crippled him."

"That's what I was afraid you were gonna say," voiced her commander. He sighed and repeated what he said last night, "Needless to say, I'm never letting you get that drunk in public ever again. At least, not without other sober ship girls present. We're lucky that drunk you listened to my orders even if you thought that I was a communist at the time. But if worst comes to worst, there's not much I can do to stop you. What can I say? I calculate a near-zero probability of me ever being able to physically restrain you."

She winced at a few of those words, but there was truth in them that she cannot refute. As much as she didn't like it, she had to agree that his judgement on the matter was the best call. "I think that's fair. And thanks for letting me off the hook this time around. I may have been drunk, but that's still a pretty bad excuse for what I did."

"It's good that you agree," he said with his gaze unflinching. He noticed that she struggled to meet his eyes with her own and he chalked that up to her feelings of guilt. He continued, "But it's just like with Hood and Belfast a while back, 'no harm, no foul.' So, let's just not let it happen again."

Silence persisted for a few seconds and Las Vegas had a thought that turned the serious subject towards a more mirthful matter. He chuckled and that brought Nashville's attention squarely on him. He suggested, "If we ever do find ourselves in the Northern Parliament, maybe it'd be a good idea for you to skip drinking altogether, no matter how enticing their vodka may be. Something tells me that their ship girls are more likely to harbor favorable views of communism."

Nashville face-palmed and declared, "Uuuugghh, you're right. I can't tell which is worse; working with the Northern Navy or the Sakura Navy."

"We'll cross those bridges when we come to it. But I'm sure that we'll manage," he reassured her. He then smiled and added on, "And besides, we don't know. They might actually be cool."

Nashville shot him a glare but no words. The look was enough to voice her disagreement.

"Maybe they've chilled since then?" slowly suggested the man.

Nashville sighed and again was forced to admit that her commander was right. She said, "I guess I'll just have to wait and give them a chance. I never thought of anything as personal back then, so I guess there's no reason to take it personally now."

Las Vegas found himself nodding at all of that. While he wasn't there in the Second World War to even have the option of whether anything was personal or not to him, he certainly agreed with giving people a chance. After all, that's what he did with Nashville. "That's the spirit," he said, "What with how strange the circumstances that bring us all together are, I think that giving chances is the least that we can do."

Nashville found herself smiling at that statement. She didn't smile at any sort of irony, in fact, that statement fell firmly into the category of reasons she respected her commander. Based on what she had seen, when he said this, he might as well be adding on, "Do as I say and as I do." She then noticed that she has yet to hear Las Vegas's opinions about working with the Crimson Axis. Well, she hadn't heard anything aside from the fact that he was willing to work with them and that circumstances dictate that they are allies with Azur Lane. "And what do you think of working with them? The Crimson Axis, I mean."

Las Vegas thought for a few seconds to try and discover his opinion. Truth be told, he had long thought that his opinion wasn't relevant to what needed to be done—which was cooperate with the former enemy. "Well…I've never met anyone from the Crimson Axis aside from Hara. And I mean, she seems fine," he chuckled for a moment and continued, "She seems motherly almost. But I don't know what to think aside from that. I guess I think that we should be cautious with what we say and do. While peace technically exists, if we slip up and give away some big secrets to the axis, that's still bad. I also expect that we'll be treated with at least some measure of animosity. Just as much as they're our former enemies, the same applies vice versa. The trick will be to be trusting and trustworthy, but not excessively so. Non-confrontational, but still protective. That balance will probably be tough."

"Makes sense," she assessed. "But we lucked out that we'll work with the Iron Blood first. It always struck me that they're much more fiercely against the U.K. than against the Union. So, I think that will play to our advantage."

He shrugged his shoulders between bites of his food. After chewing and swallowing he pointed out, "Maybe. But it really depends on who's in charge when we get there."

"Well, Mr. Smarty-pants, who do you figure would be in charge of the Iron Blood Kriegsmarine?"

The answer was a no-brainer. He responded, "Bismarck. Assuming she's a ship girl and that she's still alive to the present. I might not be a naval historian, but if they want a strong leader that's in line with what the Iron Blood propaganda wants everyone to think of them, then only Bismarck comes to mind as the quote-unquote 'strongest.' Or at least the most daring. And certainly the most glorious. I predict that they'd want a symbolic leader."

For the sake of conversation, Nashville continued with the speculative questions, "Care to give a wild-ass guess as to what Bismarck would be like?"

"A W.A.G. huh?" he considered. "She's gonna be like Queen Elizabeth but without the Royal Court. I bet that she's gonna have a confidante or two but will hold the ultimate authority. She's probably not gonna like us and we'll likely butt heads until something crazy happens and she warms up to us."

Nashville smirked and probed, "Think she's gonna be a petite blonde like Queen Elizabeth too?"

"Blonde? Your guess is as good as mine. But petite? I doubt it."

"Wanna bet?" challenged Nashville.

"If she's petite or not?" he asked to confirm. Nashville nodded and he shook his head while humming in dramatic thought. He responded with, "I don't know Nash. Do you really wanna bet against the house?"

In gambling talk, to bet against the house is to gamble against the casino itself. Experience and the continued existence of a multi-billion-dollar industry has shown that the odds favor the house. The reason he put it this way was because when he considered the gamble at hand, the fact is that the vast majority of capital ships they've met so far have not been petite like Queen Elizabeth. In fact, when he thought about it, out of all the capital ships they've met, only Queen Elizabeth has looked like she's under the age of twenty if she were a normal woman. Probability favors the likelihood of Bismarck being mature looking.

Nashville was growing impatient with Las Vegas's internal crunching of numbers. She rushed him along, "Is that a yes then?"

"You're on," he responded. "Now what's at stake?"

Nashville was already prepared, and she had apparently forgotten how much she hated hangovers. "I want my fill of the very best brew of beer that the Iron Blood have to offer. I'm talking the best in the whole country."

Las Vegas face palmed. "I should have seen that coming," he deadpanned.

"Okay then. Now you know what I want. But what do you want?"

He thought for a few seconds, and then some more, and then some more. Nashville was starting to get nervous when he finally opened his mouth. "You were a little focused on Queen Elizabeth at the moment, but I was a little salty about your butler comment right after my duels with Prince of Wales and Sheffield. If I win the bet, I want you to cook for three days. And I may or may not help with the cleaning afterwards, depending on how much of a jerk I feel like being when the time comes."

He said three days instead of a week because a week feels excessive. But he didn't say one day because he considered it not enough to be equivalent to the trouble he'd have to go through if Nashville got her fill of Iron Blood Beer.

Nashville breathed a sigh of relief that he didn't ask for something embarrassing. She consented, "You got it." She then felt the need to tease a little. In a faux English accent she asked, "Would you like me to call you, 'Master,' while I cook and clean?"

His slight shudder shot Nashville the giggles. "Spare me, please," he requested over Nashville's revelry.

Eventually, she had her fill of humor at her commander's expense and without anything else to say on the matter, the duo continued eating. But after a few bites, Las Vegas restarted the conversation by asking, "I probably already know the answer, but just to make sure, you had fun yesterday, right?"

One of the brightest smiles he had seen yet showed itself on Nashville's face. He was reminded that while Nashville is very attractive, that pristinely white and genuinely warm smile is what he thought the most beautiful part of her was. That smile was to die for. He couldn't help but smile back but he didn't say anything so that she could answer the question. "I'd say that yesterday was one of the best days of my life."

"That's great," he commented. "I had tons of fun too. More than I've had in a long time. Or maybe ever, but I'll check back in with you on that one."

That made Nashville's smile grow even broader. But she had one other thing that she wanted to say about the day before. She sheepishly added on, "And thanks. For being part of it."

He simply responded, "Any time." Then he gave his own gratitude with, "Yesterday wouldn't have been nearly as fun without you, so thanks to you too."

Her smile couldn't physically get any bigger than it already was, but now she felt like she was walking on sunshine. She had succeeded in making yesterday as fun as possible, and it looked like she had even managed to get him more conscious of how much he enjoys being around her. That's definitely a leg up over Cheshire and whatever she's done to win Las Vegas's affections.

With that closure on the subject, Nashville felt to direct the conversation back towards what she had originally asked, "So, what's the next step?"

"Well, to answer that, I'd best tell you what happened after you passed out and what happened this morning."

Nashville, being unprepared for a flashback no matter how far into the past it reached, did her best to make herself comfortable. This shift in her seating was noticed by Las Vegas who shot her a questioning look, she simply gestured for him to get on with it

He obliged her with, "Well, once I got you situated in your cabin, I decided to crack open the box that we left on the bridge to see what was inside. Sorry for doing it without you, but I was, uh, apprehensive…about going to bed, and that was the best thing to do that I could think of. It had the parts for my pistol along with a couple other odds and ends, but the two things of most interest to you are a note that told me that the computer, it's parts, and intel about the Transatlantic Investigation Agency—which I'm going to call, 'TIA,' from now on, 'cause I'm lazy—would all be delivered this morning at 1000. Then I also got your book about emergency first aid. It's on the bridge right now. After that, I incorporated all the new parts into my pistol, and I finally got brave enough to go to sleep. Then thi…"

Nashville interrupted him and with concern apparent she asked, "How'd you sleep?"

Given Nashville's genuine expression, he couldn't find it in himself to be angry for being interrupted. So, he considered her question. It took Las Vegas a few seconds to answer because he was considering the proper way to explain how poorly he slept last night. Brief few moments were spent in consideration of lying and saying he slept just fine, but childhood experience taught him that lying is addictive, and in his eyes, Nashville deserved the truth. Plus, she only wanted to help. He sighed and confessed, "Not well. No dreams but I couldn't get myself to sleep for a decent chunk of the night, so I practiced left-handed handling of the revolver Belfast gave me. I also spent some time studying an EOD manual that Larcom or Roscoe threw into the delivery for some reason."

Nashville was saddened by this news. And what's more, she found herself in a position that she dreaded in the forties, and she dreaded it equally now. From the various times that she had lost members of her crew, she recalled several of the surviving crew members going through the sort of thing that appears to be plaguing her commander. She was like the concerned friends of those crewmembers back then; helpless to truly help those in need. All she could do was be there and be ready for when the crises like what happened two nights ago happens. Oh, how she prayed that something like that never happens again. For losing her commander to himself revealed to her the greatest fears of her heart and teased at a life without him—a life that she cannot ever return to.

She considered what was in her power to try and alleviate this problem. For a time, babying her commander seemed like an attractive option, but that was thrown aside when she remembered the fact that grown men typically don't take well to such treatment. He had his pride too, and intuition told her that a significant portion of that was in shambles already from the crisis two nights ago. The best that she could do was offer, "I'm sorry that happened. But I'm here if you need me. Twenty-four-seven."

It was like some sort of sick joke. A ship woman who up to now has only lived a "half life," is partnered with a man who by his own actions no longer feels whole. The casual observer would easily see how much they needed each other, but the duo could not see it clearly.

Nashville had been mistaken earlier, a name would not make her love of him somehow "complete," for she was still in the wrong mindset. She yet believed that while she needed him, he could make do without her, and that if it wasn't her trying to help, it would just be the Cheshires of the world doing the helping. But slowly, surely, and without either of them noticing, that was no longer becoming the case. The final realization on both parties' parts that they needed each other would be the thing to give that sense of completeness that she yearned for.

Such was the truth of the matter. But truth, like bubbles at the bottom of the sea, will always float to the top. It just has to make the long journey first.

In response, Las Vegas smiled thinly and answered, "Déjà vu. But thanks. I'll make sure and come to you if anything crazy happens."

"Promise?" she asked of the man, knowing that he keeps his promises.

"I promise," he stated.

"Good," she concluded with a nod, and then she bade him to continue by saying, "Sorry for interrupting. What were you saying?"

"It's okay. I get that you're worried about me. I'm glad that you care. But as I was saying, this morning, at 1000 on the dot, four of Roscoe's own marine guards pulled up in an unmarked sedan, and they carried the goods all the way to the bridge. They insisted. It was quite the sight to see. Two men carrying a computer easily carried by one, and the other two doing the same with a box that had the replacement parts. There on the bridge, one of them then gave me a big ol' fat file on the TIA. Full dossiers on every single member, including all their clandestine missions as legit special forces operators. We could blackmail them if we wanted to." He then took a pause to let Nashville offer comments or questions.

She accepted and asked, "Anything stick out to you about our super-cops?"

"The guy in charge is a former Union Air Force Pararescueman named, 'Garcia.' And his second in command is from the Canadian Joint Task Force 2. I think his name was 'Taylor.' Beyond that, I think the most stand out people were the outliers, like the Europeans in their ranks that Roscoe mentioned. They even got a couple Iron Blood and Sardegnian people, so it's not all just an Azur Lane show. My favorite outliers though were the sole member of the Mexican Army who specializes in drug interdiction and the random agent from the Israeli Mossad."

Nashville nodded and hummed in a way that conveyed how impressed she was. But then her face contorted in curiosity, and she inquired, "By the way Roscoe made it sound, they need a bunch of money to do what they do, like pay off the right people to keep themselves out of jail. That can't be cheap. Did the file say how they get that money? Or do they really just have that rich of clients?"

"According to the file, while they do accept payment from clients and use those funds to do normal business things, it looks like they seize the money that they use to pay-off their legal woes from their targets themselves. A morally grey action, for sure, but it's as Roscoe said, it doesn't look like anybody in any country has truly questioned the results any further than they are required to. To help secure their finances, these guys are based in Zürich, Switzerland, nearby their favorite bank."

Now Nashville cringed and retracted her earlier statement, "Maybe I jumped the gun a bit in calling them super-cops."

Las Vegas rubbed his eyes and dragged a palm down his face before he said, "I agree with you. And I agree with Roscoe too. They really are a band of mercenary vigilantes, and criminals to boot. From their track record, it'd make you think that they're waging some sort of holy crusade on crime. But their success rate speaks for itself. I wish we could find someone else to do this job, but it looks like they're the best we got."

Pensively, she nodded as she took her time to absorb her commander's opinion on the matter. She trusted his judgement, and she couldn't think of any better alternative. She asked, "Are we gonna contact them sooner or later?"

"The job we got is a big one. So, I want to conduct the business face-to-face. We'll take a detour to Zürich once we get into Iron Blood Territory."

"I like it," she responded. Then she smirked and lightheartedly asked, "So…TIA…Is it a sausage party?"

"One-hundred percent male."

"Christ I can smell the testosterone already. Hopefully there won't be a pissing contest at some point."

Las Vegas drawled out, "Yeeeeaaaaahhhh. That's a likelihood we should prepare for."

"Normally, I'd be right there with you, but I think you got it mixed up."

"Huh?"

"It's a likelihood you should prepare for. I can kick their asses no problem, but something tells me I won't be invited to the pissing contest. In any other situation, I'd be ticked about being relegated to the cheer squad, but honestly, I'm okay with that this time."

It all came flashing back to him in this moment how back in his last posting, everyone in the Signals Intelligence Division made fun of the exact kind of people that they are looking to contract for help saving the world. He audibly groaned while leaning his head backwards until it touched the bulkhead behind the counter he was sitting on. "I guess I'll have to think of a plan should something happen," he forced out. He tried to cheer himself up though by adding on, "And plus, what do they got on a Jabberwocky? A literal dragon."

"You got this," encouraged his companion, but then she got onto the one thing that she noticed he hadn't mentioned yet, "Did you crack open the crate in the armory yet?"

With his head still against the bulkhead, he shook it and answered, "No, I was waiting on you."

She saw that he had already finished eating just like her, so she lowered herself from where she sat across from her commander and suggested, "So, let's clean up and then crack it open."

"Yeah, sure. How're you feeling now?" He was referring to her hangover.

"A lot better now, thanks. It'll linger for a bit longer, but I'll manage."

"Sweet. Let's get on with it then."

With that plan made, the duo cleaned up, and then left the galley to make way for Nashville's armory.

XXXXXXXX

The duo arrived at the armory which was conspicuously lacking in arms. But even though the walls and their associated storage lockers were empty of the weapons that would arm a contingent of marines, there was still the crate that was left the day before that sat in the middle of the room.

Having never had occasion to open a wooden crate before, Las Vegas realized as he laid eyes on the object that they should have grabbed a crowbar on the way over. No matter, he'll just let Nashville go for it. But the woman in question had a much more interesting idea, "Since we don't have anything to pry it open with, you should see what that knife that Queen Elizabeth gave you the other day can do."

He shrugged and consented with, "Aight. Let's see what it can do." Queen Elizabeth had asked him to keep it on him at all times out of respect for his position as a knight, so he undid the sheath's clasp and took out the ornate yet still deadly blade. He approached the crate with Vorpal in hand not knowing what to expect.

Deciding to err on the side of caution driven from not wanting to damage the goods inside, he was going to approach this as if Vorpal was a hot knife, and the wooden crate was actually made of butter. He chose one corner at the top of the crate, and he lined up the tip of his blade with it and he applied pressure to insert the blade as a prying tool. Most blades can't handle this type of treatment, but Vorpal was different. With what felt like hardly any force at all, the sharpened tip of Vorpal sank a few inches into the wood planks, only to stop. The progress of the blade wasn't halted by any resistance, rather it stopped with Las Vegas's amazement at what he just beheld. If he had to compare the experience to anything, it was like getting a sharp, yet normal knife to go through wet cardboard.

Just as expected, Nashville was standing right beside him as this happened. But the duo reacted to this differently. Las Vegas got to see ship girl swords in action against the Jabberwocky, and they were incredible when wielded by skilled superhuman women. And here he was doing something in a likeness to them, but with a fraction of the physical capabilities. He just gaped and gasped a bit. Nashville didn't see what he had seen for ship girl blades, all she knew was that they were special, stronger and sharper, she had figured. But not to the extent of letting a completely normal guy turn a hefty wooden crate into tissue paper. She whistled to show how impressed she was.

Now the crazy part. Again, with minimal effort, Las Vegas began to cut through planks with ease not unlike using a letter opener on an envelope. Steel nails were the only thing that offered the slightest hinderance to Vorpal. Nashville asked, "Hey can I try?"

"Be my guest," he invited, withdrawing the blade, and handing it to his companion.

She replaced him as the greatest enemy that this crate had ever faced. With even more ease, she made quick work of the rest of the lid, and she lifted the wooden panel off. She tossed the lid into a corner, and she passed Vorpal back saying, "You got yourself a pretty good can-opener there."

"Thanks," he said simply. Then both leaned over to see what was inside.

On top was a plain grey backpack that had a few plastic buckles, it's purpose was denoted with a white patch with a red cross on it's front. It was Nashville's requested medical supplies, conveniently stored in a manner like many combat medics the world over. "Guess I should start calling you 'Doc,' huh?" noted the codebreaker.

Nashville reached down and she pulled the medic bag out. It was heavier than she expected, and it's size would make carrying it unobtrusively a little difficult, maybe she could find a way to drop it off as a sort of mobile aid station whenever something happened? That sounds like a terrible idea. The point of having it is to have it with you, so she'll think of something to do when more mobility is required on her part. She suddenly had an idea, but she had to find something out.

The man noticed that his companion hadn't responded for a few seconds, so he leaned back out of the crate to look at her. She noticed the movement and before he spoke, she asked her question, "Do you know how Duke of York or Sirius hides their swords? Cause' it'd be pretty handy to whip this out of nowhere like they do with their stuff."

"That would be pretty handy. But I was told that their swords are part of their riggings that can be manifested without dissolving their hulls. So, unless you know a way to turn that med bag into a part of your rigging, it's just gonna have to be carried around."

Nashville didn't respond, instead she looked down at the bag in her hands and thought about the problem at hand. She didn't have a clue if what her commander had just said was impossible or not, and if it was possible, she didn't know how to make it happen. She didn't even know what her rigging looked or felt like, so how was she going to integrate anything into it?

Picking up on her confusion, her commander offered, "I think that it'd be a good idea to ask Duke of York or some other ship girl about it. I know you struggle to understand her sometimes, so maybe ask Sirius or Javelin instead?"

Now satisfied with what to do next, she nodded and set the bag to the side. "Good idea," she complimented. "But let's see what else is in here."

With that, the duo dove back into the crate to see what they could find. Nearly half the crate was full of a what had to be thousands of rounds of hollow-point nine-millimeter ammunition. There would be no problems holding the line with all that ammo. Conveniently, Larcom also decided to throw in a bunch of magazines for Giovanni, so there would never be any shame with discarding a magazine once it went empty.

The next most obvious part of the crate was dedicated to the storage of body armor components. There are several ways to approach modern body armor, specifically, bullet proof vests. The main trade-off that occurs is between protection and concealability/mobility. A concealable bullet proof vest can be made specifically for an intended wearer. But even for that custom of a vest, it can have varying levels of protection. Often, the vest itself is actually a carrier of the armor. The most subtle and unobstructive armor is made of a tightly woven fabric, most commonly, Kevlar. Kevlar and other soft body armors will work for most pistol caliber ammunition but is ineffectual against heavier firepower. For that, hard body armor is used. Hard plates of either a ceramic or steel itself is slipped into the vest and greater protection can be offered at the limit of subtlety and mobility. Naturally, these two trade-offs are because there is a sizeable chunk of material being held up to protect the wearer's vitals.

From what Las Vegas held up out of the crate, it was very clear that Roscoe had decided to get the hardest body armor possible, meaning that the codebreaker will only wear it when trouble is actively expected, or else everyone will ask what the deal is with the guy going to war. In his opinion, the vest's appearance can be best described as, "stereotypical." It just looked like what one would expect police officers to wear, having a slot for armor in front and back, and it was even black. But it didn't have any identifying marks on it.

Not finding anything interesting in inspecting the vest while Las Vegas held it, Nashville instead retrieved one of the hard plates meant to go into the vest. Intuition told her that something informative was printed on it's back. She was right and there was a small, printed page taped on. She read aloud, "DARPA Project Silver Back. This material was meant to armor the next generation main battle tank, but the project was discontinued for project cost overruns and the steep price of manufacturing for what little could be produced. Blah blah blah."

She kept reading on while Las Vegas commented, "Yeah, cost overruns sounds a lot like something the Union would do."

Nashville didn't respond to her commander though. As she read on, her eyes suddenly widened and she whispered, "Mother of God, that's a lot of money."

"What?"

"It looks like this piece of metal and the other just like it is all that Project Silver Back was ever able to produce. Guess how much these each cost."

Surprised at this development, he threw out a random number, "Ten-thousand dollars." Nashville shook her head with her eyes still wide. "Twenty-thousand dollars?" She shook her head again.

He was about to throw out another number when she flat out gave the answer. "These cost two-million dollars…each."

They both shared a moment of united silence out of shock. Eventually, Nashville continued to read, "If manufactured at the standard thickness of tank armor, this material would be nigh invulnerable, but in the present thickness, expect protection from auto-cannons firing armor piercing ammunition in calibers up to twenty-millimeters. WARNING: Concussive force of such a shot is still fatal." She handed the plate of mystery metal over to her commander concluding with, "The final line is Larcom asking us to please keep it out of enemy hands."

Wordlessly, Las Vegas held the plate up to where he guessed the vest would hold it. He was surprised at how small it was, for it only covered his rib cage and a little below, leaving much of his abdomen exposed, likely to preserve at least some mobility. So, while it would keep his heart and lungs from being trashed, it didn't make him invulnerable by a long shot, but it would keep him from being one-shotted by anything not hitting him in the head or neck. He finally found his voice and remarked, "Imma assume that 'enemy hands' constitutes everyone."

Nashville shrugged and commented, "Good idea, but I have a feelin' that 'enemy hands' means the Iron Blood and Sakura more than just anyone."

"Yeah, you're probably right. But let's see what's left in the crate. I only remember hand grenades from here."

Sure enough, thirty fragmentation grenades and thirty flashbang grenades, both with attached training manuals to keep the heroes from accidentally killing themselves.

Both took a few seconds to take stock of what they now had, and Las Vegas found himself putting both plates of the silver back metal into the vest. Altogether, the ensemble was lightweight and compact. Perfect to be thrown into the backpack he often carried around because there was nothing else attached to the vest. Then, so long as he can survive the opening shots of a gunfight, he can get it on in just a few seconds and be ready for action. Nashville picked up her medic bag and opened it to see just about everything a combat medic could want. Or at least, that's what she thought she saw, only she couldn't identify more than half of the stuff in it. She had her work cut out for her but saving her commander from bleeding out was well worth the trouble.

Having finished their inspections, the duo looked at each other at about the same time. "We have work to do," stated the man with no name.

His light cruiser companion was inclined to agree. "Let's get started then."

XXXXXXXX

And so, they got to it.

The time had come—the duo had decided—to change their strategy. For the entire duration of their time in London, they have been on the defensive; relegated to react to an enemy that is a few steps ahead of them, but no more. It was time to go on the offensive. And they agreed that the first step of that offensive was to hunt down and destroy whatever Lovecraftian abomination keeps sinking ships in the ocean west of the U.K.

Now it was the Sirens and Heralds that had their eyes enshrouded by ignorance. For in having failed their over arching objective of killing the man with no name, they have been doomed to suffer under the magicks of a crafty enemy and to weather the wrath of the Her Majesty's Senior Service, who have grown tired of fighting and dying in home waters.

But first things first, they have to get out of London and back to Devonport because the bease will be the better staging ground for them to commence their hunt.

Las Vegas considered what would be the best use of their time, and he predicted that he would only need a day to repair the computer so generously donated by the Heralds of the Deep. But that left the most recent low-security Siren cypher that would allow their safe traversal back to Plymouth and then into the Atlantic, uncracked. The cypher would likely take a few days to crack, but then they can get moving.

From the few times that the duo has been in port and Las Vegas has a cypher to crack, Nashville has found those few days enjoyable to lounge about and indulge herself in her favorite music, trying to forget the storm that usually immediately follows. But this time, she had a book about emergency medicine with which he can entertain herself. So, she immediately got to reading and studying it by finding a chair and relocating it onto her bridge to be with her commander as he worked on his task.

Later that afternoon, Queen Elizabeth's voice came over the radio asking permission to come aboard to speak with Calico Jack. Her reasoning for the face-to-face meeting instead of over the radio was the recent revelation that their communications weren't as secure as she had supposed a few weeks ago.

It was granted and the teenage monarch arrived not long after, with Belfast as her singular attendant. Queen Elizabeth had been growing restless from waiting for what needed to happen next, that is her return to Devonport, and she was pleased to see that Calico Jack was likewise restless. She asked him to continue what he was already doing and crack the codes that would allow for the fleet's safe journey back to their home port.

The business had been conducted swiftly in contrary to her tastes for formality and as she was leaving, Calico Jack requested that all who had joined Nashville and himself the night of the London Incident would return to Devonport with them.

"Why?" asked the super dreadnought. "I was intending to reinforce London by leaving Duke of York, Javelin, and Cheshire."

To prevent either Unionist from responding immediately, she held up her hand as a gesture for silence. It was granted for a few seconds and Queen Elizabeth asked, "Does this have to do with the something that hides under the water and keeps sinking our ships?"

"Yes," came the codebreaker's reply. "If all goes according to plan, I anticipate that we'll set sail for the hunt within the next week, and I would like to take those who I have found to be trustworthy."

Queen Elizabeth smiled broadly. She got that feeling that things were finally about to get moving again, and this war was about to finally see some progress after so long. She answered, "As much as your secrecy and enforcing secrecy from my subordinates irritates me, I find the prospect of progress quite enticing. I will graciously grant your request, but in return I must ask you to ascertain the enemy's movements between here and Rosyth, because filling the gap in London's defenses will have to come from there if not from among the forces already here from Devonport."

"How far is Rosyth from here?"

"Nearly four-hundred nautical miles."

"I can crack the codes to open the way with an extra two days or so. On the other hand, including the Government Communication Headquarters would decrease that time by over half, but that comes at the cost of keeping your fleet movements only between us."

She considered this for a few seconds and remembering their discussion about how for the Sirens to have cracked their codes, someone might be a spy. Queen Elizabeth decided that now was the time to err on the side of caution, so she notified the man, "I leave clearing the way solely to you, take the extra time, but do try be quick about it. We'll set sail for Devonport and a fleet will leave Rosyth on your signal."

"Understood," answered the man. "I'll always be in touch for progress reports between now and when I give the notice."

"Excellent," approved the monarch. "But I must take my leave."

With that, Queen Elizabeth and Belfast left with Nashville as an escort. Belfast gave a nod to the man as she followed Queen Elizabeth on the way out. It was returned, and he got back to work, with Nashville rejoining him on the bridge not long after.

XXXXXXXX

The next few days progressed quickly and without obstruction. Queen Elizabeth checked in regularly, and she had ordered that no visitors were to distract the codebreaker as he worked. He somewhat resented the order for isolation, but he understood Queen Elizabeth's intentions to do all she could to speed things up. Nashville was glad that she wouldn't have to waste time making sure that Cheshire didn't get too close to her commander, or worse, somehow get him to talk to her alone.

Four days had passed, and almost all the codes were cracked. At night, an hour before lights out, Las Vegas began to busy himself getting a shoulder holster made of leather and metal that would hold Watson under his left shoulder, and then hold several speedloaders and Vorpal under his right shoulder. He had settled on a spring clip style shoulder holster, where a leather covered bent piece of steel would wrap around the top of Watson's frame and hold tight around the cylinder, while a small sleeve of steel-reinforced leather would hold the very tip of the pistol's barrel. These two points of contact on the weapon permitted for a lightning-fast draw once he finally tested the fit of the accessory on his body. The grip was pointed forward so that he could draw the weapon under his left shoulder with either hand, and the sleeves under the right shoulder did very well to keep the ammunition and Vorpal from rattling around. Trying it on under a jacket did surprisingly well of concealing that he had anything at all. All he had to do over the next few days was put a finish on the leather, blue the steel parts to prevent rust, complete the final assembly, and then the shoulder rig would be in business. Not bad for a craftsman novice, he only had to restart twice on that first night of work. It was easily rectified by taking his time, and remembering the craftsperson adage of, "measure twice, cut once." Good thing that they bought extra leather for this exact reason.

But after that hour of working on his holster every day, he always laid down to sleep with fear in his heart. He was terrified of having another nervous meltdown, and that fear kept him awake for sometimes hours. But in this time, he would practice left-handed handling of his weapons, and he would study the EOD manual. His lack of sleep wasn't catching up to him yet, but he had to figure out something to tell Nashville once she figured out something was up, which could happen at any moment should she feel him stirring in his cabin.

In her downtime, Nashville had figured out a couple splints, how to treat a gunshot, and had practiced suturing on meat from her galley. The things she had been working on was still rough and indicative of a novice, but she was steadily improving. But she still had to figure out a lot of the stuff about pharmaceuticals, and the nuances of combat medicine, but with time, she was confident of being able to figure it out. She has yet to find a chance to ask some other ship girl about maybe incorporating her medic bag into her rigging, so she hoped to get to it once they got back to Devonport.

She too went to sleep each night with a small amount of fear. She worried for her commander, but whenever she reached out to feel for him after they both would retire for the night, he was always in his bed. She would always be asleep by the time he would finally get tired of trying and failing to force himself to sleep. For the time being, she remained unaware of his night-time activities. But it was anyone's guess as to how long that would last.

In the morning of the fifth day, Las Vegas completed the last code needed to clear the way for the fleet coming from Rosyth bound for London. Queen Elizabeth was pleased with the news, and she gave the order to prepare to set sail that afternoon.

It was quite the process, getting most of the ships moored in the River Thames turned around and underway.

As they were sailing down the river, Las Vegas and Nashville watched the banks of the city. Some people recognized the Union Navy ship that had charged first during the Battle of the Thames, and they pointed and waved as the vessel went by.

Despite having passed through multiple harrowing trials and revelations in London, the two foreigners were still sorrowful to leave the city behind. But that sorrow had been softened by the good-byes that had been given them by those who were in the London Garrison.

Nevertheless, as was often the case, necessity requires that the heroes look forward instead of backward. This was especially the case because the hunt for the Siren Superweapon in the North Atlantic was about to commence.

The first meeting between the Magician and the superweapon had been in the shadows, but the second meeting would be different.

This time, the Wizard Merlin was poised to give mighty battle unto the Dark Knight Mordred.

Hey everyone! What's up? It's been a while, I know, but let me tell you, this past month has been absolutely crazy for me. Engineering degrees do a pretty good job of making sure that you're kept busy, but I'll be honest, I was probably only busy for like three-quarters of the time since my last post. The rest was spent sick. I only felt like trash for a few days and I'm still not sure if it was covid or not, but it definitely did a good job of delaying me for a week in posting this. No matter, I'm feeling almost all better now and if it was covid, I'm certain that things would have been a lot worse if I wasn't vaccinated. So, if you've read this far, I would like to encourage you to get your vaccination if you haven't gotten it yet. This is serious business, and people are still dying out there.

Anyway, about the chapter. I guess that I don't have all that much to say other than this one had a lot of talking. But I will say for sure that I am super pumped to finally get into the superweapon hunt. And just as a heads up, this monster was a recommendation from a reader way back earlier this year. But I'll get into more details about that in later chapters. I see some comments that need responses, so lets get to it.

Hey there, KINGTIGERACE. I'm glad you liked the chapter; I hope that this one is worth stopping work for too. Or at least, I hope that the wait was worth it.

Hi, Zander22122. It's great that you liked the fluff. It might not be my strong suit, but I'm glad that it was interesting. And speaking of interesting, it's great that you approve of Las Vegas's personal problems. I don't know much about mental illness, so I could only go off of symptoms I read online or stories that I've heard from soldiers, but I'm glad that you approve. That innocence was a spur of the moment thing. But I'm so happy that it appeared on my screen. No problem about the movie call outs. I really just wanted to spoof series that I felt most people would understand. I had actually been planning a red scare for a while now, and it's great that it went over how I had hoped. Sorry for waiting so long to update, I hope you've been doing well.

It's good to see you again, SomeRand0m. I wouldn't say that the Heralds are like a nation, but more like an organization. You are absolutely correct about the rational heralds that can think and formulate strategies. I intend for them to start playing a role in the next arc. I'm glad that you like the world building and thank you so much for being so kind and calling this story underrated and really good. I honestly hadn't thought about stereotypes when I was writing that bit about Nashville getting excited about hiring mercenaries. It it's not too much trouble, could you share some more American stereotypes with me? I'm okay with my story's Americans thinking and doing American things, but if I can help it, I'd like my non-American characters to not act American. For immersion, you know? Good point about the darker meanings of hanging out. But I'm happy that you found that moment funny. I already have a plan for that rejection scene, so please stay tuned for that in the future. While I'm sorry that you feel sorry for characters that don't exist, it offers me great satisfaction that I, as an author, am able to create characters that make you feel things. I honestly hope that they don't add Nashville to the game. At least not while I'm writing. Because if they were to add her, then I would have to be confronted by the decision of bringing her in line with canon or not, and I don't want to deal with that. But if they were to add her exactly like how she is in the story, then I'd be okay with that. But I'd still oath her in a heartbeat regardless. Yes, it is some sort of PTSD. I don't know if it's normal after killing someone the first time, I just wanted to give a challenge to my main character. The nightmare caters to both fears. You mean kill himself? Maybe. I'm not sure. Oddly enough, the semester leading up to me starting this fanfic did have me alone in a dorm room for weeks on end. It did get pretty lonely, but it got me into AL and made me start a fanfic. I have a roommate now though, so it's not so bad, and I live close enough to home that it's not too hard to go there when opportunity allows. I think it's the setup for a superhero code, but you do make a good point. It'll be fun to play with this moral code in the future. When Shazam was first published, he was called Captain Marvel. But when they stopped printing the comic for a while, Marvel created their own superhero with the same name. Then DC started reprinting their version and the confusion persists to this day. But as you have noticed, DC has started calling their version Shazam to avoid confusion. But during the time of WWII, Shazam was more popular than Superman, thus the reference. Las Vegas's life is like an anime. I'm glad that you like his realization though, but we'll just have to wait and see if I end up hurting Nashville. It suffices me to say that I have plans. You make another good point about left-handed shooting; I was planning to have him start practicing with his left hand. "Chuck it into the water as protest," refers to an occasion in history leading up to the American War for Independence when a group of disguised colonists boarded a British merchant ship and threw all the tea overboard into the harbor to protest the British tax on it. I've never played Genshin Impact, but I'm glad that you approve of Nashville's new hairstyle. If you want a reference, I was thinking about Kasumi Yoshizawa from Persona 5. It's like that, except the bow and the hair color are different. Isn't wholesomeness great though? I loved that part in the art gallery. LoL same about Fast and Furious. I never thought about the father and daughter relationship outside of when I wrote the joke about it, but I guess you aren't that far off. Branching dialogue paths was a nod to videogames and more specifically, the fallout franchise, due to it's themes of americans vs. communism. It's nice reaction to see people notice how untouchable he is. But will this last in the Iron Blood arc? We'll just have to wait and see. I'm happy that you understood the yellow books being for support skills. Sorry for the long wait, I hope that this chapter was worth it.

Thanks for the comment, TexasDrifter. Thank you so much for saying that about this story. I sure hope to be able to keep it up because we are still much closer to the beginning than to the end. I am always available for PM if/when you get your own AL fanfic going. Engaging with people is my absolute most favorite part about writing a fan fiction, so I'm glad that you're here. I hope you stick around. Same to you, stay safe. And since your username just reminded me, I'm gonna assume that you're from Texas, but if I could add any single ship into AL, I would add the USS Texas. She deserves it.

Greetings, SafetyDoggo. It's nice to see that you enjoyed the fluff. But I definitely agree with you about school. Things have been crazy for that reason on my end of things. I'm glad you liked the chapter. I hope that this one was worth the wait.

Hello, ErnstLindemann. I'm happy that you found the chapter interesting. I hope this one was too. They will be facing the superweapon very soon.

What's up, DearUncleHermit? I'm glad that you liked the chapter. Well, okay then. I guess that I'll just keep up doing my best then and try to be a bit smarter next time I split up my characters. While I'm glad that my love story isn't in last place, let's be honest, Twilight isn't that high of a bar to begin with. At least I'm trying to have a relationship that isn't abusive, even if Nashville is kind of clingy with what amounts to separation anxiety. That SCP inspiration is pretty killer though. It'll be great to have more situations with that sort of thing in the future. Sorry for making you wait so long for this chapter. I hope it was worth the wait.

Hey there, Prometheus-23. Don't worry about being late to any sort of party, this story isn't going anywhere. Anyway, I'm glad that you enjoyed the chapter. But then you make me laugh about finding time to write. Motivation is fine on my part, but this past month has been crazy busy for me. I hope that it won't take as long to get out my next chapter as it did for this one. But I hope that you can find time and motivation to move your projects forward too. Sorry for the long wait, I hope the final product was worth the wait.

It's nice to meet you, DrAngel78. Thanks for the comment. It makes me very satisfied to hear you say that you like the details that I go into and I'm likewise happy that you enjoyed the last chapter's focus on the relationship between the two main characters. But as for your question, I am always on the search for interesting factoids that can be included into the story, and my various interests over the years have taught me just enough to think I know things. Whenever I use a fact from my own knowledge, I always try to confirm it with a second source, I'm usually not picky, so convenient websites often come into play. But when I need information about something that I'm ignorant about, I again visit convenient websites. I frequent Wikipedia and YouTube the most often. When it comes to facts about ships, I actually try my hardest to find a book about them, and in very rare occasion, I do reference scholarly publications which I have access to through my university. Then my knowledge of geography is thanks to google earth. But there are some things that are inherently difficult to research so I sometimes have to extrapolate or even guess in some cases. An example of something difficult to research would be the history and methods of codebreaking during the second world war. This is mainly due to the fact that most of the sources in English are either from the U.K. or from the U.S., and both country's respective sources are more interested in making their efforts look good at the expense of acknowledging the efforts of the other. I generally assume that the truth is somewhere in the middle, and I think that this reflects in my writing. I also found out that I'm squeamish and I find it difficult to research medical procedures, so that time when Nashville was suturing her commander's wound closed in the pub a few chapters back was guesswork on my part. But perhaps the hardest thing to research is trying to understand how different people speak. For example, idioms are often localized by country, and I don't know anything about idioms in the UK for my Royal Navy characters to use. Furthermore, since my experience with the English-speaking world outside of the United States is non-existent, I find it difficult to make my non-American characters not sound American, and there are no real sources to warn me of things to avoid. I cannot properly convey how much I would love for Belfast to say something Irish sounding, because that is where her namesake city is. But I don't know. At the moment, the bigger challenge is trying to figure out how I'm going to handle the factions where English isn't the native language. But I'm certain that I'll come up with something. Perhaps this response was a bit more drawn out than you were expecting, but that's the answer. I hope that all is well with you.

Wow, it's late, and I have somewhere to be in the morning. I should get to sleep. 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.